


Closer

by Vivian



Series: A Vision [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017)
Genre: Action, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Hate Sex, Implied Poe Dameron/Finn/Rey, Kylo has a crush on Vader, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Murder, Politics With Porn, Unhealthy Relationships, Vader does not requite it, brief mention of non-con in chap 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-05-24 04:02:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6140911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivian/pseuds/Vivian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vader has survived. Under Supreme Leader Snoke he reclaims his power. By his side is Kylo Ren.<br/>The tide is turning and the game begins. But General Hux does not like to play.<br/><br/><b>The story continues <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6916852/chapters/15778723">here</a>.</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kyrie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all [Percy's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/canterville/pseuds/canterville) fault, with whom I talked about headcanons of Vader and Kylo meeting. This was supposed to be a drabble, but kylux hell took over.  
> Thanks goes to my [bae](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelas) who beta'd this and to Percy.

**PART ONE: CLOSER**

 

**i.**

 

In the darkness, Kylo Ren’s eyes are wide open.

The echo of his breath, hollow against the walls. He lies, his fingers clawed into the sheets, perfectly still. A cold torpor upon him. And slumber, so far from reach.

Where once the molten mask of Vader laid, is only empty space now, reverberating. And he remembers still, Vader demanding: destroy it. So Kylo had. No second thought had crossed his mind, but he has felt the mask’s absence ever since. This thing to glance upon. To pray to.

So he lies there, and in the darkness his breath catches, treacherous.

 

**ii.**

 

He strides trenchant towards the room in which the briefing is held. A message on his comm had let him change his path from the training room to the war-council division.

When he enters, the room is already filled. The filtered breathing from his mask is announcement enough to make heads turn. The sharp gaze of General Hux settles on him. He leads the briefing, standing before a holovid, currently paused. His appearance is impeccable, his silhouette clean cut.

“Lord Ren,” the general says with his clear, acrid voice. A farce. Using Kylo’s title a courtesy for appearance’s sake. Spite churns inside Kylo.

“General,” he replies, then takes his seat.

The briefing proceeds. Kylo does not listen. Instead, he twists the Force about himself, and with its tendrils, reaches out. He brushes against Vader’s presence. His breath falters. He dares naught more, but the taste lingers, curdles on his tongue. Black vinyl, steel. And something ashen, burnt and remade.

Vader is on his way.

Kylo swallows thickly. None else in this room is Force-sensitive. None feels Vader approaching. But his presence cuts through the air as the loops of plasma on a lightsaber.

And when at last the door opens, Kylo shudders. Once more, heads turn.

“Lord Vader,” Hux greets him clinically, a barely perceptible strain to his voice. Kylo’s lips twitch.

Vader simply nods, gesturing for Hux to continue.

Kylo does not dare look at him, not until the meeting is over.

 

Behind the viewpoints of the ship, blackness. The _Finalizer_ is on her way to the outer rim, heading for the Horuset system. Few are the stars. Darkness holds sway. Empty matter, the gyration of engine. And silence, old and cruel.

Vader leads, Kylo follows.

Their reflections, a shimmer of obsidian in the viewpoints, in perfect cadence and of-kind.

When at last they reach the training room, it is them and them alone. The doors lock behind Kylo. A shiver runs down his back. He straightens his posture, takes his lightsaber. It blazes in the mechanic twilight.

“Show me then,” comes Vader’s command, calm and regal. “Please me with your progress, Kylo.”

They get into position. His heartbeat speeds up.

They move.

And it is all this: anger and rage spiking in his guts, the well-known _need_ , and fear vitriolic. It tears at him as a howling beast, and Kylo lashes out. Vader is controlled in his force. He takes every blow of Kylo’s easily, before he hits back, and hard.

The copper-tang of blood in his mouth. He’s flat on his back. Vader above him, towering. He says nothing, but in the quiet there lies disappointment. Kylo hisses and gets back up.

“Focus,” Vader tells him, harsh.

“Yes,” Kylo rasps. Underneath the mask, tears sting at his eyes. Treacherous. _Weak_.

He grips the lightsaber tighter and attacks. Sharper this time. Quick. Their weapons meet sibilantly. A growl forces itself from Kylo’s lips. He pushes harder.

“Focus,” Vader demands, “focus!”

And Kylo does. All his rage, and all his fears, pandemonium, his mother’s touch and his father’s smile, and _Luke’s hand on his shoulder_ —disgust shivers through him, caustic, scarring, and he screams, and bashes forward— He drives Vader back, and Vader hisses, “Yes, yes, good boy.”

 

**iii.**

 

He tosses and turns. Heat lingers at his throat where once during their fight Vader’s gloved hand had _pushed_ . Kylo’s lips quiver. His brows are knit and slanted upwards. Shame burns his cheeks as he claws his fingers into the sheets. _No, no, no, no, no._ There had been approval in Vader’s violence. _Not enough, never enough_ ; and so clearly he had seen the image of Luke, not as Kylo knew him, but as Vader had, young and bright and beautiful, and so strong, so promising, and _refusing_ — Kylo sucks in a sharp breath, and it _stings_ — ‘My son is not lost,’ Vader had said, and, ‘I will reclaim him.’ Luke who had told Kylo such lies, of repentance, delusions, deceit, Luke who’s eyes had darkened, when at last Kylo had shown him, had sneered and spat insult, Luke who had vanished— _good, good_ —  

Vader’s voice. Nearly soft.

Kylo’s breath shudders. Nausea. He bites his lip. He wants—he wants— His fingers move down his stomach.

A knock.

Chaos cratering his skull. Anger flaring up.

Another knock.

“ _Who is it?_ ” he snarls, and tears the sheets away.

“Open up, Ren.” It is Hux, voice tinged with the usual impatience.

Quickly Kylo throws his robes on, then, still barefoot, opens the door. The rush of cool air accentuates the heat lingering on his cheeks.

“General,” he says with a quirk of his lips.

“May I come inside?” Hux’s pale face is composed, a hint of grey shadow underneath the steel gaze of his eyes.

Kylo is tempted to refuse him. He steps aside. Hux comes in, and though there is no indication that he has taken note of Kylo’s... _state_ , Kylo knows Hux has. He clenches his fists at his sides. Hux takes a few steps, then turns to face him.

“You wanted something?” Kylo growls.

“I need your clearance for this mission, once we’ve arrived at Moraband,” Hux says and hands him a data pad. Kylo takes it, gaze flitting over the report, heat biting at his neck, churning in his stomach, he can’t concentrate, the numbers flicker and fade. With a sharp breath he presses his palm to the pad, giving his clearance. Rash, something inside him says, but it matters not, he wants Hux to leave— Hux takes the pad from him. Their gazes meet. Clash. Hux’s eyes are light green. He is so pale, a thing of glass where lightning has struck, embers flying, a pearl of cold sweat runs down Hux's temple. Inside: order, catalogues, symmetry, Hux’s mind is clean cut, mathematical. Hux’s lips twitch. Condescension. Hatred. _Pity_.

Kylo lashes out.

He claws into his mind, and tears him open. He snarls and the Force sizzles around him, cracks in the air. He sees— Hux as a little boy. Watching his father beat a man to death. Unmoved. Moved. _Awed_. Hux lying in bed, trembling, the sheets wetted, stained—“ _Enough_ ,” Hux hisses, Kylo’s lips split into a sneer. He tears in further and sees: the ruptured skies. Riven open. Annihilation. Hux breathes in the star's acrid dust, and on his tongue, an ancient world dies. And deeper still, the fear of failure—“You would know about that,” Hux spits, and the landscape of his mind grates all around Kylo, restores order, the screech of steel against steel, _You pathetic little boy. Eager for his_ _praise. Ludicrous. You will_ never _be his favourite, Ren. He wants his son. You are a disappointment to him. Weak—_ Kylo’s fingers tighten around Hux’s throat. And Hux, he smiles. Triumphant. _You are a child, Ren._ Kylo lets go of him. Stumbles backwards.

“Leave,” Kylo grits.

Hux straightens his collar. His gloved hands tremble, but his gaze is steady. He slips the data pad into his coat, then folds his hands behind his back. He turns and leaves. The door shuts.

In one fell movement Kylo sweeps his desk clean, papers scatter, something shatters. A shout breaks from his lips, then he sinks to the floor. Swallows hard. He tilts his head against the wall. Breathes in, his nostrils flare. Strands of hair veil his eyes as they roll back into his skull. Under his robes, his hand moves messily between his legs. Tears sting at his eyes. He bites his lips until there is blood, and when he comes and spills _his_ name burns on Kylo’s tongue.

 

**iv.**

 

He dreams of many things. He dreams of sand, and the dry desert wind. He dreams of fires spreading across the horizons, and, darkness falling from the skies. He dreams of Leia and Luke and Han. Of Snoke, ashen and gargantuan. Of Vader, beside him. His hand on Kylo’s shoulder.

He dreams of becoming.

 

They enter the Horuset system. It won’t be long now until they reach Moraband.

Kylo heads for the bridge. Vader awaits him there. None dare to disturb them, nor stand close enough to listen. Moraband’s seven pale moons fill the viewpoint.

“I am most pleased with you,” Vader says. A shiver runs down Kylo’s back. Vader turns towards him, light slithering over the smooth, black texture of his mask.

“There is great conflict in you. I feel it.” Pause. “I see it.”

Vader steps closer.

“My Lord…” Kylo rasps.

“You are at war with yourself.”

“I—” Vader cuts him off with a swipe of his hand.

“There is no peace, nor should there be.”

Kylo swallows hard.

“I want to be strong,” Kylo says.

“You already are. And your power is still growing,” Vader says and turns back to the viewpoint. There is a distance to his stance and voice. As if memories tinted the air. A forgotten scent. The echo of a too-familiar voice, scrubbed clean of age. A tenderness Kylo cannot stomach. He clenches his fists at his sides, grinds his teeth, and behind his mask, presses his eyes shut for a heartbeat.

It is long enough to see. He does not want to see, not any of it.

 

The planet’s surface is of a coppery red. A malpais overhung by a cinder-filled sky.

The Υ-class command shuttle descends. Kylo sits quietly, his knights beside him. Vader has gone ahead and will await them, and General Hux. There will be a meeting of First Order allies, but it is not why Kylo has come. He needs to walk through the Valley of the Dark Lords. He needs to meditate.

Their residence is located west of the Valley, not far from its mouth and the reliquary of XoXaan, who, so many centuries ago first came to Moraband. Kylo can feel XoXaan. As a pulse in the dark her presence is woven into the fabric of time. The Force quivers all around them. Whispers of the old tongue, voices in the dry desert wind.

As they exit the shuttle an officer approaches him.

“Sir, General Hux requests your presence in room 01.06.87, concerning the mission at hand,” she says.

It takes Kylo a moment to remember. His lips twitch, unseen by the officer, as he gives her a curt nod.

“I will be there in half an hour. Dismissed.”

“Aye, sir.” She salutes and leaves with hurried steps towards the big complex carved out of basaltic lava.

 

An hour later Kylo enters room 01.06.87. It’s a conference room, empty except for Hux sitting at a big table, datapad in front of him and papers with small precise handwriting neatly stacked next to him. Hux raises his gaze.

“You’re late.” Hux’s face is calm, but Kylo has known him long enough to see the rage simmering underneath.

“What is it you want?” Kylo asks, taking a step closer.

“The mission. I assume you have not read the document, though I had an additional copy sent to your comm.” Petulant. Kylo closes the door behind him and walks over to where Hux is sitting, towering over him. He can taste Hux’s annoyance on the tip of his tongue.

“What is it you want?” Kylo repeats. Hux rearranges the papers, then stands and hands Kylo the datapad. On it, a picture of a man in uniform.

“This is Major General Tikan Dois, and these,” Hux flicks to another picture with a group of military men and women, “are his second, third and fourth in command as well as their personal guards. You and your knights will eliminate them. They are a danger to the First Order and no longer reliable allies.”

“When?” Kylo asks.

“Tonight, before the meeting,” Hux answers.

“Does Lord Vader know?”

“Snoke’s orders,” Hux says.

“Answer my question.”

Kylo takes a step closer. Hux does not retreat, instead he juts his chin forward, pale eyes glimmering.

“I said: orders from Supreme Leader Snoke. Are you questioning me, Ren?” A threat is laced into Hux’s words. A sudden rush of heat. He puts the datapad down, then slowly raises his arms, pushes the button for the opening-mechanism of his mask. Hux smirks thinly. His thoughts are clear as day: _Just a boy_. Kylo takes a shivering breath, tilts his head and bares his teeth.

“You play with fire,” Kylo growls.

“I don’t _play_ ,” Hux says calmly, eyes narrowed to slits.

“Is that so.” This time, Hux’s mental defences are strong. Kylo laughs. Except Snoke no one can keep him out. He thrashes through Hux’s mental shields, and marches Hux back against the wall. Mercilessly he claws into his mind, ruptures and rives and _sees_.

“This is a violation,” Hux grits out, as Kylo rips forth the image of Hux as a boy, sheets stained, Hux crying, Hux being afraid, Hux older and still afraid, Hux being used by another cadet of the Academy, face unmoving. Hux wrathful but still, Hux staring at the broken body of his father, Hux fleeing the Republic. Hux thinking of Kylo Ren on his knees. Kylo grabs Hux’s throat hard enough to leave the imprint of his fingers above Hux’s collar. A quiet laugh breaks from his mouth, his lips half an inch from Hux’s ear.

“Interesting,” Kylo murmurs. The metallic click of a blaster-safety being removed. Steel against Kylo’s temple.

“Step away,” Hux says.

“You know I could kill you without you ever firing that blaster,” Kylo breathes against Hux’s neck.

“ _Step. Away._ ”

“I don’t think so.” He squeezes Hux’s neck and the shiver that goes through Hux is pain, rage, something white-hot and _searing_. Kylo takes another step, presses Hux against the wall with his body. Without thought he pushes his face into the crook of Hux’s neck, mouths at the cold skin there. Adrenaline rushes through his veins. He doesn’t use the Force to make Hux let go of the weapon.

 _You want this,_ he murmurs into Hux’s head. _For all your control, you are so...weak._ He can feel Hux’s arousal against his thigh. A shiver runs down Kylo’s back. For a heartbeat he closes his eyes. The Force slips. Suddenly Hux is in his mind. Eyes wide. And he can feel Hux staring. Seeing. Vader. And what Kylo wishes Vader would do to him.

“Get on your knees,” Hux hisses. Kylo moves against him, eyes screwed shut, and moans quietly.

“ _On your knees, Ren._ ” Hux’s acrid voice rings in Kylo’s head.

The steel of the blaster-muzzle presses against the side of his head even as his knees hit the floor. Kylo looks up, feverish: Hux’s eyes are glazed. And so very pale.

 

Major General Tikan Dois fights until, against the cold floor, his last breath expires. Blood slicks Kylo’s boots and wets the hem of his robes. Of his knights, one is injured, but no more. Behind them, Hux’s men get in to clean up and take away the bodies. Kylo steps over Dois and dismisses his knights with a sharp nod. With the cameras still turned off, he walks unseen to his room.

He opens the door and looks at Vader.

All the way he has felt Vader’s presence. Smooth, cold. For the first time no thoughts are in his head, only a swirl of darkness. He lowers his gaze. His boots leave bloody prints on the floor as he walks inside. He swallows, takes his mask off. Vader’s mechanical breathing echos in the dimness of the room.

“You did not ask for my approval,” Vader says. No trace of emotion lies in his voice. Kylo stands with his back to him, opening his robes, throwing them to the floor.

“No,” he confirms.

“Be careful to trust the general,” Vader says.

“I do not trust him.”

“Good.”

Kylo steps out of his stained robes, and for a moment allows himself to glance at Vader. His tall, strong frame. Inside his lungs, his breath catches. It takes much, to will himself to silence.

“You do not want me to see,” Vader says and takes a step closer. “Your conflicts.”

Kylo raises his gaze to meet Vader’s, veiled by the mask.

“Is it important?” Kylo snaps before restraining himself. He lowers his eyes.

“Such rage,” Vader sounds nearly pleased, then he turns around. “I shall leave you to it.”

Only when the door slides shut behind Vader, Kylo realises the rapidity of his heartbeat. How heat lingers at his neck and curls in his guts and shame burns on his cheeks. Too many things he doesn’t want to think of. Too many things he does think of. Vader’s voice, dark and sophisticated, _royal_ , he whom Kylo first has followed after hearing his name and knowing his deeds. He, who has risen and fallen, and been made anew. His gloved hand on Kylo’s neck. The potency of his presence. The way Vader says ‘My son’. Kylo clenches his fists, removes the rest of his clothing and steps into the refresher. Before his eyes: Hux looking down on him, lips parted, a sliver of teeth. Hux’s hand in his hair, pulling hard. Vader saying ‘Good boy’. He washes the stench of blood from his skin. He thinks of Dois’ eyes, darkening. Around him, the Force pulses, timeless.

 

**v.**

 

Winds howl through the valley. The red sands move and whisper. All night Kylo has wandered, has listened. Ululations of the old tongue soughed by beasts in the tombs. He has passed Sadow’s and Kressh’s crypts, has tarried inside the temples of XoXaan. Now his path leads him along the six monoliths hewn into humanoid shapes, bowing their heads. His gaze is set eastwards. The sun rises. Red phosphor skies. A colour more primeval than birth or blood. The taste of ash in his mouth. And even now he feels it. The call of the light, and it is bitter.

He closes his eyes and chokes on his prayers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles in reference to [this](http://www.stmatthews.com/choir/mozartsrequiem.htm).  
> This is my first work in this fandom, so please let me know what you think!  
> Say 'Hi' to me on [tumblr](http://lieutenant-mairon.tumblr.com) if you like.  
> 


	2. Dies Irae: I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks goes to my [bae](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelas) whom I'm bombarding with this, who betas this, and whose support means everything to me; as well as to [Percy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/canterville/pseuds/canterville) who asked all the right questions when I started writing the Knights of Ren.  
> Rho, one of Kylo's knights, is trans and uses they/them/their pronouns.  
> Shit will go down from now on.

**vi.**

 

Red skies. The horizon is split open. And light, fracturing the firmament.

Kylo Ren does not avert his gaze. He stares into the rising sun.

The morning leaves him scorched and bereft. He walks blinded, and on his tongue, the taste of cinders. Around him the sands shift and whispering emerise the plates of volcanic rock. He leaves the lower valley, and then XoXaan’s reliquary. He heads back westward, the sun rising behind him. Silence and salt on his lips.

 

Upon his return to the residence, a group of officers approach him. The number of stormtroopers has been doubled at the entrances. Something is wrong.

“Sir,” one of the approaching officers begins.

Kylo intercepts, “What happened?”

“Lord Ren, we couldn’t find you—”

“Answer the question,” Kylo snaps.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. There’s been an attack. It’s under control now. General Hux—” Kylo’s lips twitch. The fingers of his right hand tighten as they would around a throat. The Force tingles upon his fingertips. The officer gasps for breath. Eyes wide, pulse speeding up. For a moment, Kylo squeezes the air out of his lungs. Then he throws him aside, moves to the next officer.

“Where is Lord Vader?”

“Th-the main conference room,” the officer stammers.

Kylo leaves without another word. He reaches out with the Force. As chords struck upon an instrument there is noise and clamour. _Major General killed._ And louder still: _Treason_. It trembles along the rooms: Disorder. Anxiousness. And power shifting. Kylo swallows thickly. He marches through the corridors teeming with officers, stormtroopers and general staff, shoves those aside who do not make way.

 _Of course_ , he thinks, and, _careless, careless._ Under the mask, he grits his teeth.

Before he reaches the conference room, one of his knights joins him. It’s Issar in her heavy black armour. She says nothing, but follows his stride with equally heavy steps.

In the main conference room people stand pressed against another, perhaps two hundred of them, gazes firmly set on the podium behind which Hux stands and speaks—

“—Dois _lied_ to you and secretly _supported_ the miscreant Resistance! He was a danger to our purpose, and _had_ to be removed for your safety. Now, we must stand united as one obedient people. For the love of _peace_ we must be courageous and _steel_ ourselves. We were pushed to learn privation, without ever breaking down, and because of what we do, our _legacy_ will live on, our flag, pulled from the ruins of the Empire, will _unite the galaxy_.” Hux’s voice cuts through the air. An affirmative shout goes through the masses as Hux finishes. Even from afar, Kylo can see the glassy sheen on Hux’s pale irises. Hux lowers his eyes. Their gazes meet for a split second. Hux purses his lips, then he turns on his heel and leaves the podium flanked by four guards of his protection squadron in their heavy anthracite-coloured coats.

Kylo takes a shaking breath and tries to calm his raging pulse. Issar at his side remains quiet, but he feels her hatred, black as soot. She is about to step forward. With a gesture, Kylo holds her back.

“No,” he grits out. She retreats.

The crowd slowly disperses. A swath opens up between the leaving officers. Vader. His stride is calm, but Kylo sees the tension knit into his shoulders, the tightening strands of muscle, and the _Force_ rumbling about him.

“My private quarters. Now,” Vader says. He glances at Issar. “Leave us.”

She bows to them and turns away.

 

Vader stands with his back to him, staring out of the viewport. His quarters are more spacious than Kylo’s, but just as barren. A scent hangs in the air. Aseptic. Behind the door closest to him, is the machine that allows Vader to take off his helmet, the machine that has replaced bone with steel.

“You feel used. Betrayed,” Vader says and slowly turns.

“Wasn’t I?” Kylo answers, voice low and quaking. He averts his gaze. Remembers being on his knees before Hux, remembers the satisfaction brimming underneath Hux’s skin, the scent of salt, the bitter taste of Hux’s come, how Hux had smeared it over his lips—

Kylo bites his lips, hard. Looks back up. Vader clasps his hands behind his back and beckons him closer with a tilt of his head and a pull of the Force. Kylo advances.

“You were careless,” Vader spits, “you understand you were betrayed, but you know not why.”

“Tell me,” Kylo pleads, fists trembling at his sides.

Something tightens around Kylo’s throat. He’s yanked forward.

“Think for yourself boy,” Vader hisses. Something churns in Kylo’s insides, calcine claws that rouse and spike: shame, anger, excitement—

“Dois was one of your men,” Kylo rasps, seizing the Force, but not resisting.

“Yes. All of his command were mine. Snoke has let you eliminate them and already appointed new leaders for their troops.”

Suddenly, the pressure stops. Kylo swallows, _thinks_.

“Snoke…”

“Yes,” Vader says viciously. Then, “Where does your loyalty lie?”

“With you,” Kylo whispers.

He stares up at Vader, and something inside him _shakes_ , something _desperate_.

“Always,” Kylo adds.

“Good,” Vader says, calmly, generously. He turns back to the viewport.

“Assemble your knights. Question them. If they do not stand with you, kill them.”

 

Kylo requests his knights to meet him in the medbay over his comm. On his way there he does not think, just walks. Issar joins him then. He needs not query her, he knows her loyalty is with him. As it has been from the beginning. She had been the first to bow to him, ten years ago. When they arrive, Zall and Quia are already at Daion’s sickbed. Bysshe and Rho enter only a moment later.

The door closes behind them.

“Take off your masks,” Kylo demands. They obey. Issar remains at his side.

Slowly he passes by each of them. Watches. Listens.

Quia stands tall, her hand is loosely draped over her BR-66 rifle. She does not move. Her thick black hair is tied into a single braid, flung over her shoulder. She is the newest of his knights, and perhaps the most deadly. Cold. Detached. Hatred an undertow that takes from her all warmth.

Next to her Bysshe, pale hair and face, humming mantras under his breath. He is calm, but Kylo has seen what simmers inside. When he took him from the seas, nearly drowned. Like the rest of his family. As Bysshe had intended. A glint of madness in his eyes.

Next to him, Rho. They lean against the wall and watch coldly. They and Bysshe had joined him five years ago. Rho, who had feverishly watched a war on their planet, _delighted_ , finally being rid of boredom, bloodlust burning in their veins, scorching and leading them straight to Kylo.

Not a year afterwards, Zall had sought him out, had pledged himself to Kylo if only he would teach him the way of the Force.

Much like Issar, Daion had joined him in the very beginning, an outcast of the Republic, disillusioned by their politics, and _angry_. For a long time it had been only the three of them.

Now, Zall tilts his head, first glancing at Daion, who tries to sit up in his sickbed, then to Issar and Kylo.

“You,” Kylo murmurs, full of venom.

It is then that he swirls around, robes flying, and claws into Zall’s mind. Zall resists—for a heartbeat. The four of them descend upon Zall. There is no sound as they tear Zall apart.

Zall struggles, images flit through his mind in rapid succession: Kylo teaching him in the twilight. Kylo’s face pallid and proud. Issar’s lips darkened by wine. Rho and Bysshe grinning at Zall, drunk on destruction. A city burning. The feeling of power.

Kylo does not care for it. He tears in further.

And Kylo sees it all: Snoke, gargantuan, sneer splitting his scarred face in half, promising, always promising— Zall’s home planet reborn from its ashes, the glimpse of a woman, his mother, _Kill him_ , Kylo thinks, _kill him now_. Zall groans and throws himself against them and bundles in his hands, what he has left of might. Zall’s mouth forms a quiet scream as he fights back.

But Bysshe and Issar hold Zall still. The Force rumbles around them, thick and inescapable, a heartbeat in the dark, cormorant. Rho and Quia join them, their eyes glinting.

“You will never defeat Snoke,” Zall whimpers. Blood seeps from the lower rim of his eyes. Kylo gnashes his teeth and claws further into him.

“You will die, alone and forsaken,” Kylo says and steps closer until he can feel Zall’s weakening breath against his face. With pleasure he tightens the Force around Zall’s neck.

“Look where this has brought you,” Kylo murmurs, voice shaking and eyes wide. He squeezes harder. He rives into him with his mind and drags forth the memory of a boy. A childhood friend. _Bia_. The name echoes in his mind. _He is dead_ , Kylo whispers into Zall’s thoughts, _you killed him, Zall._ It is the truth. Kylo laughs under his breath, tightens his grip, tightens—He leans in. White hot wrath.

“Traitor,” he hisses against Zall’s lips. And watches him die.

He turns to his knights.

“I am your master before all else,” he says, toneless.

Silence hangs heavy in the room.

“You follow whom I follow.”

The five that remain do not question him.

“Yes,” they say in unison.

 

Kylo leaves them under Issar’s command with the task to dispose of Zall’s corpse.

He is on his way to Vader.

Before his eyes, the fractured firmament. Rifts of bleeding light.

 

Vader’s hand on his shoulder. The press of his gloved fingers. Kylo looks at him. He cannot breathe. He does not think.

“Snoke has been using you for your power. You know it to be true.”

“Yes,” Kylo says.

“He would have crushed you. But at my side you are strong. You are _becoming_.”

Kylo closes his eyes. His nostrils flare. He breathes in deeply the scent of aseptic air.

“We must be wary now. Here, General Hux is our most dangerous opponent. Do not oppose him openly.”

“He should die,” Kylo says, sudden spite twisting his insides. The way Hux has looked at him, only hours ago, the clean-cut sharpness of his gaze, vitriolising—

“Do not be hasty. The general has yet a part to play.”

“He does not _play_ ,” Kylo spits, turning away.

Vader grips his shoulder harder and pulls him back.

“Such passion. Good. Use it. Control it. It will serve you well to wipe out our enemies when the time is right.”

 

An hour later, Issar reports back to him. Zall’s corpse is taken care of. She also informs him of a meeting, scheduled in half an hour. He’s received a message on his comm about it as well.

They sit in silence. Issar does not question the path Kylo is leading them down. Yet, her mind is clouded. They are rising against Snoke. A year ago, Kylo would have called it treason. Before Vader. But now Vader is here. And it changes everything.

Vader, who rose from the ashes of the Empire, holding the thunder in his hands. Half of-steel and engine. At his command a power even Snoke could not subdue. Vader has become more than a man. He is will, and he is power.

His pull is stronger than anything Kylo has ever felt.

 

The meeting is attended only by the highest of rank; a group of twenty-two. All the factions have come together. Dois’ party is represented by a new leader: Captain Phasma. They assemble around a long table and take their seats. Data pads are provided for each attendant. On them, the agenda of the evening: Starkiller Base.

Hux leads the meeting. Kylo cannot look at him. Under his mask, he bites his lip bloody. Both Vader’s and Issar’s attention is set upon him. He straightens his spine. Meanwhile, one of Hux’s men goes on about details of construction, funds they need and material that must be acquired without drawing the Republic’s attention. The Republic’s fleet is an ever present danger.

“Not for long,” Hux says. “Upon the completion of Starkiller Base, we shall _break_ the shackle of the Republic’s unjust rule. Once and for all, the Resistance and _all enemies_ of the First Order _will be crushed_.”

When funding and further development has been discussed, more than half of the attendants leave. More private matters are then planned, and orders given. Tension remains with Dois’ former faction, but the appointed leader, Captain Phasma, is one of Hux’s most capable, and her other troops rank among the distinguished elite of the First Order.  

At last, all but Vader, and Issar at Kylo’s side, have left. Hux, flanked only by Phasma, gives Vader a sharp nod.

“Lord Vader,” he says in clinical acknowledgement. Hux clasps his hands behind his back and turns to leave.

“A word, general,” Vader says smoothly.

Hux faces him once more, unmoved. He tilts his head and waits for Vader to speak.

“An impressive performance,” Vader says and steps closer. Kylo watches quietly, fists forcibly slack at his side. Hux tilts his face up to look Vader in the eyes.

“Thank you, Lord Vader,” Hux says calculatingly. Tension is knit into Hux’s stance, but he does not relent nor does he retreat. A hot well of hatred swells in Kylo’s chest.

“Supreme Leader Snoke must highly appreciate your services for his rule.” A smile resonates in Vader’s words. Hux’s face remains unchanged, but Kylo can feel the shiver that goes through Hux’s mind, and so must Vader.

“Good evening, Lord Vader,” Hux says without pretension, gaze sharp.

Hux glances at Phasma, she nods. They leave.

 

Issar’s quarters are close to Kylo’s. She accompanies him on the way. They do not speak. The pallid skylights reflect on her mask. Her stride is strong and her step heavy. She bows to him when they reach his room, then she leaves for her own.

Inside, Kylo takes his mask off. A tremor echoes in his chest, shifts his vision. He has not slept since the previous morning. He pulls off his robes and sinks to the bed.

He stares into the dark, eyes wide, cold sweat on his skin, unmoving.

 

Snoke comes to Kylo in the guise of memories. A soft touch and the moon-shape of his mother’s back. The echo of her steps, fading. The quietude of his room. Grey skies and filthy-red nights.

His gaze ever set to the horizons.

The first time Snoke’s voice reverberated in his skull. Not gentle, but wise. An old world laid bare. A path. A destiny to choose, for him, and only him. A brave, terrible choice: to become.

Snoke had extended his hand, and Kylo had taken it.

The first time Kylo had watched Snoke kill a man, splintering his skull with the Force, Kylo had dreamt of it for days. Awed. Terrified.

_I believe in your strength. I can show you the way. I can lead you to greatness._

The sound of crushing bones, echoing in Snoke’s wide halls.

 

**vii.**

 

The departure from Moraband is scheduled for forenoon. The troops are getting ready. Preparations are being made, and in the conference rooms final meetings are held.

Kylo does not have the time to visit the Valley once more. When his shuttle takes off, he stares out of a viewport, watching how Moraband falls away underneath them. The temples and tombs merge with the red sands. The whispers of the old tongue fade. The call of those ancients cannot reach him now. His knights do not speak, and when he glances back, he sees them sitting tense, Issar next to Daion, their knees brushing. Zall’s absence lingers with them, unsaid.

In a few minutes they will be on board of the _Finalizer_ , and on the way to Starkiller Base. Vader has requested to speak with him. Still, Kylo cannot grasp what is happening. What they are doing.

Underneath his mask, his breath is shallow and his skin, numb.

He remembers splinters of his dream. Snoke’s susurrations. The suffocating memory of his mother’s touch. How the corners of her eyes would crease when she smiled, how the light would glint in the dark of them, _his eyes_ , and how he thought she knew of all things in this universe.

 _Weakness_ , he says to himself, standing unmoved. _It means nothing to me._

 

Two hours later, Kylo enters the sparring room. Vader awaits him.

The hilt of his lightsaber lies heavily in Kylo’s hand. They do not speak.

A moment of cessation.

Then Kylo bashes forward. Vader deflects his strike, and executes a vertical chop aimed at Kylo’s head. Kylo parries with a horizontal block, taking two steps back. The sizzle of their sabers burns through the air as they clash again and again. Kylo remembers Luke saying, _You are too aggressive. You are reckless._ Vader slashes open his left arm. Pain shatters through Kylo, he grits his teeth, and for a moment, slacks. Vader presses ahead. Instinct takes over. Kylo draws aside and counter-attacks. He mirrors Vader’s movements, as once he had mirrored Luke’s, as once Luke had mirrored Vader’s. _You must seek balance through compassion,_ Luke had said. Kylo knows neither. The pain drives him forward. His blade crackles, meets Vader’s.

For a moment, neither excels.

Then, with a single blow, Vader forces him back and on his knees. Vader’s saber cuts through the air and stills, an inch before his neck.

“Impressive.” Vader says, steps back and deactivates his saber. “Most impressive. But you are not ready _yet_.”

Kylo breathes heavily and gets up. Heat lingers on his skin. A pearl of sweat runs down his temple. Blood soaks his sleeve.

“We must progress carefully,” Vader says.

“What can I do?” Kylo murmurs.

“Get me the plans for Starkiller Base. I know you’ve been in General Hux’s head. Take the plans from his mind by tomorrow. Naturally, he must not notice.”

“It is done.”

“Good.”

Kylo bows deeply. He swallows hard, and heads for the door.

“Something else,” Vader says.

Kylo stops. Turns back.

“We are going to find my son,” Vader says.

 

Kylo does not remember his way to the medbay. He has not cared to stop the bleeding and leaves a trail of blood behind him. It is not an unfamiliar sight to the stormtroopers, be it his own or someone else’s blood that now slicks the floor. The gash in his arm is deep, but not deep enough, the pain is not enough, the image of Luke burns behind his eyelids. Disgust shivers through Kylo. He braces himself against a wall, stills, nausea rising, festering, overwhelming— _Move_ , he yells at himself, _move._

He reaches the private sector of the medbay. Some of the droids try to approach him, but he refuses them with a swipe of his hand, crashing them against the walls. When he enters his and his knights’ section, Daion looks up at him.

“Master—”

Kylo gnashes his teeth, under his mask, his face contorts.

“Get a needle,” Kylo hisses, taking off his mask and leaving it next to the bed.

Daion gets on his feet, the bandaged part of his torso darkens with little blotches of bright red. Kylo sits down on Daion’s bed.

“Stitch me up,” Kylo hisses.

“There are bacta pads, why use a needle—”

“ _Stitch me up_ ,” Kylo’s scream breaks off.

Daion approaches with needle and thread. His almond-shaped eyes narrow.

“Alright.”

Daion cuts off Kylo’s sullied sleeve, cleans the wound and applies disinfectant.

“You want it to hurt,” Daion says, voice cool as silk.

“Do it,” Kylo presses. He glances at Daion, his brown hair, the sheen on his olive skin, and thin line of his lips. Daion nods, solemn. Then he starts.

Kylo tilts his head to the side, strands of hair fall over his eyes. He tries to concentrate on the pain. The needle piercing through his skin. He bites his lip. _Luke_ , he thinks, _Luke, Luke, Luke_ . One evening, Kylo had stood hidden, behind the door, and he’d heard Luke talk to his mother and Han, ‘Ben reminds me of him.’ And Han had nodded and said, ‘Your father.’ ‘Yes.’ With such fear. _He does not deserve him_ , Kylo thinks, nausea churning inside him, choking the air out of his lungs, _He is not worthy and he will never accept. Why does he want him why does he want him why does he_ — Daion pulls on the thread, tying Kylo’s skin together. Kylo sucks in a shivering breath. Heat tingles at his neck, his chest. He exhales slowly.

“Done,” Daion says.

Before Kylo can reply, an alarm goes off.

_“Sector 4 breached. I repeat, sector 4 breached.”_

Kylo reaches for his mask and is on his feet the next second. There’s an explosion nearby. Voices. Tumult.

“Stay here,” Kylo commands. Daion’s face twitches in defiance, but he obeys.

Kylo storms out of the room. Troopers in the hallway, officers moving into the opposite direction. Kylo reaches out with the Force and finds the source of the explosion one floor up.

 _“Rebel attack. Do_ not _shoot to kill. Capture the rebels_ alive _,_ ” it rings through the speakers. Kylo recognises it as Hux’s voice. Kylo takes the crew turbo-shaft and reaches the upper level. More stormtroopers. He cuts a way through them and reaches the sector where the explosion has happened.

Dead stormtroopers on the floor. Someone shouting, “Soldiers down, medical, medical!” The hall is a containment area for broken parts, some of which now lie scattered around, in the air the reek of burnt vinyl and scorched steel. Suddenly, Kylo whips around. On the periphery of his vision a man takes a sharp corner. Kylo reaches out. The Force rips through him and clasps around the man’s neck. With a snarl, Kylo yanks him close. The man cries out before Kylo stops his movement mid air and lifts him higher. Kylo wants to kill him. His fingers tighten. The man chokes.

“ _Put him down, Ren,_ ” a voice commands sharply. It’s Hux. Kylo hears him approaching. For a moment he tightens his Force-grip on the rebel’s throat. Then he whirls the rebel around and lets him crash down before Hux’s feet. Hux takes a clean step back without batting an eyelid. Three of his guards step forward, two hold the rebel down, one searches him. Hux’s gaze pierces Kylo’s.

“Good work, Lord Ren,” Hux says acridly. Kylo’s lips twitch. For a second Hux’s eyes narrow at Kylo’s bare left arm and the seam of his bloody wound.

“Apprehend the rebel,” Hux says to the stormtroopers, “bring him into the interrogation room. Let the droids work on him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Search for accomplices. Clear the area. ”

“Yes, sir.”

Hux turns to leave. Kylo holds him back by his arm. The guards’ hands move to their blasters. Around them, some of the stormtroopers stop moving. The look Hux gives him ignites Kylo’s blood. He can feel Hux restraining himself.

“General,” Kylo says plainly, “there’s something we need to discuss.”

Hux stares at him, then he nods, once. The guards relax.

“My quarters,” Kylo says, “in half an hour.”

Hux snorts derisively, looks Kylo in the eyes and says, “Now.”

 

They walk quietly, side by side. Hux’s guards trail behind them. Shortly before they reach Kylo’s quarters, Hux dismisses them.

 

The lights are dimmed in Kylo’s room. Anthracite shadows. Behind the viewports, the black emptiness of space, engulfing them. Kylo turns to Hux, who regards him, expressionless. Hux takes a silver case from his coat, then lights a cigarette. Its blueish smoke curls in the twilight.

Kylo moves closer, takes off his mask and leaves it on the desk. Adrenaline races through his veins. Hux’s eyes are cold and in the dimness, colourless.

“Undress,” Hux says clinically.

For a moment, Kylo hesitates. Then he opens his robes, throws them to the floor. Clumsily he peels off, what remains of cloth. Hux’s stare penetrates his naked body. Hux’s mind unbolts for Kylo to see, what Hux sees: The paleness of Kylo’s flesh, his skin spattered with birthmarks. All the bits Kylo does not wish to see, Hux scrutinises, soft, vulnerable bits, a childhood scar, and then lower, his yet flaccid cock. Kylo presses his lips together and averts his gaze.

“Look at me,” Hux says.

He does not. Instead, he wrenches from Hux, what Hux tries to conceal: His uncertainty, his envy whispering _look at his body, it is strong, you’re not._ And deeper still, his lust. As a coil of snakes, it twists inside Hux, cold-blooded and venomous. The image of Kylo’s back, Hux’s gloved hand in his hair.

Kylo shivers. In the cool, filtered air, his nipples harden, as does his cock. Hux’s gaze follows the curve of it, then snaps up. Taking a drag of his cigarette, Hux gestures for Kylo to come closer.

Kylo does, until there is barely a hand’s width between them, his eyes cast low on the taut line of Hux’s mouth. Kylo takes a shuddering breath and leans in.

Fingers grip Kylo’s jaw hard and turn his face to the side. Heat burns on Kylo’s cheeks, sears inside him. He does not look at Hux. A gloved finger drags over his lips. Without thought, Kylo opens his mouth and closes his lips around Hux’s finger. Then he sucks.

He can feel the spike of Hux’s arousal, can feel his stare, his single thought of _whorish_. Kylo’s pulse falters. A memory flashes through Hux’s mind, Kylo’s reddened lips, _well-fucked_ , glutted with come, and shame slatting in his skull. Hux takes another drag from his cigarette. Then, Hux grips his hair, pulls his head back, exposing his throat. Kylo bites his lip. A flicker of repulsion on Hux’s face. _His soft mouth_ , Hux thinks, disgusted.

Finally he lifts his gaze and looks Hux in the eyes.

“On the bed, Ren. Prepare yourself.” Hux’s voice is knife-edged.

For a heartbeat Kylo falters. A spark ignites in Hux’s gaze. And Kylo knows that Hux knows. That Kylo has not done this before.

Hux marches him back until Kylo’s calves hit the foot of the bed.

“I said: On the bed.”

Kylo sits down, moves back onto his elbows and tries to pull himself towards the headboard, his long limbs dragging. Spite sings in his veins, he is so hard.

He thinks of Vader, slashing his arm open, imagines Hux pulling out the blood-crusted thread, marring the leather of his gloves—

Hux pushes him into the mattress. From beneath his trembling lashes, Kylo watches: Hux opening the bedside drawer, taking out ointment and regulation-condoms.

With the darkness at his back, Hux sits and quietly instructs. Hues of grey submerse them. Shadows  blur, and smooth cloth and skin and voice. In the gloaming, Kylo writhes. The stretch of his flesh is odd, unpleasant. The sounds his fingers make, as he pushes them inside himself, echo too loudly in the room. Hux looks at him, pale eyes and paler skin. Something struck by lightning and made into glass.

Suddenly, Kylo brushes against a point, that makes him moan.

Hux stands, and walks to the bed. He is still fully clothed. Now, Hux opens his trousers, frees one hand of its glove. His hands are delicate, thin, long fingers that now curl around his hard cock. Kylo stares and Hux watches him do so, then Hux rolls a condom down his length and uses some of the ointment to slick himself. A shiver runs down Kylo’s back, slowly, he spreads his legs further. And he can see himself in Hux’s thoughts: hair sticking to his face, _his face_ —his dark eyes and soft mouth, lips bitten red, he looks so young, so vulnerable—sickness pulls in Kylo’s gut, desperately, he does not want to look like this, he does not want to—

Hux pushes in. Kylo gasps for breath. Wide-eyed, he stares at Hux and feels Hux moving. Rage bleeds into Kylo’s consciousness, Hux’s cold, burning, searing rage. _Loss of control_ , Kylo hears Hux think, and sees, the order of Hux’s mind shifting around the epicentre that they are, here, on Kylo’s bed. With his gloved hand, Hux grabs Kylo’s throat. Sheets fisted in his hands, Kylo moves back against his thrusts. Flesh slaps against flesh. The sound is disgusting. Hux feels perfect inside him. Kylo bites his lip, shame burning on his cheeks.

Hux thinks, _You should be begging for it. Whore._ Kylo’s cock twitches, and Hux _sees_ it, lips pursed in revulsion, pushing in harder. Kylo hates him. He tears deeper into Hux’s mind, sees Hux’s father, _Brendol._ No: _Commandant_ , and he is, unlike Hux, strong of built. _Loyalty_ , the Commandant says, and, _obedience_. _I do not tolerate weakness. Those who will not rise, I will teach to fall_ faster _._

Hux's fingers tighten around Kylo’s throat. Kylo grips Hux’s uniform, pulls him in.

“Don’t touch me,” Hux hisses. Kylo yanks him closer and turns them over. He grabs the headboard, sinking down on Hux’s cock harshly. Hux grits his teeth, his hair is dishevelled, sweat glints on his skin. They look at each other. With the Force, Kylo tilts Hux’s head upwards and crashes their mouths together, desperately. Hatred bursts from Hux, Hux thinks: _his mouth is so soft_. They kiss messily. Need pulls in Hux’s guts, so strongly that Kylo nearly feels it as his own. Hux thrusts upwards and brushes against that spot in Kylo. A groan breaks from Kylo’s lips. Then Hux’s fingers dig into the wound on his arm. _Vader_ , Kylo thinks hotly, and he knows Hux can hear it. _What would your mother say_ , Hux spits.

“Shut up,” Kylo growls.

Hux’s lips twitch in contempt. He pushes into Kylo hard. Once more, Kylo kisses him, slipping his tongue into Hux’s mouth. Hux pushes his own against it. Lust twinges in the tips of Kylo’s fingers, his nipples, his cock. He opens his mouth for Hux’s tongue and sucks on it, clenching around Hux’s length.

Suddenly, Hux stills.

Hux’s mind goes blank.

 _Now_ , Kylo thinks, and with what he has left of control, he takes from Hux the plans of Starkiller Base.

Underneath him, Hux shivers. Shame crushes into Kylo, and if it is Hux’s or his own, he does not know. Hux pushes him off, his softening cock slipping out of Kylo. When Kylo tries to turn towards Hux, Hux’s gloved hand seizes his hair and presses his face into the mattress. Hux’s other hand wraps around Kylo’s neglected dick. Hux jerks him off with precise, sharp strokes. Under Hux’s ministrations, Kylo whimpers. He pushes into Hux’s hand, needy.

When finally he comes, his whole body is trembling. For a moment there is nothing but darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The first speech Hux gives is a [ Hitler speech I altered & added parts to](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I7b5tiEVLa0). As a German person I feel very ambivalent about writing it and it made me cringe several times. Fascist propaganda was well written, which makes it all the scarier.  
> -"His gaze ever set to the horizon." Is a reference to what Yoda says about Luke in ESB.  
> -"Those who will not rise, I will teach to fall faster." Is my translation of a Nietzsche quote from _Thus Spoke Zarathustra_.  
>  -I have a lot of feelings about Kylo's lightsaber combat style.  
>   
> Please tell me what you think, esp about the knights & the smut! I don't usually write multi chapter fics and comments keep me motivated.  
> If you wanna know more about the knights, have a look at [this](http://lieutenant-mairon.tumblr.com/post/141442781349/the-heavy-daion-male-olive-skin-tone-demi) and [this](http://kyluxxury.tumblr.com/post/143313607793/lieutenant-mairon-lieutenant-mairon).


	3. Dies Irae: II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks goes to my [bae](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelas) who betas this <3

They do not speak. Hux cleans up quickly, smooths back his hair and straightens his uniform. He leaves without another word or glance.

Fifteen minutes later Kylo receives a message to his comm from Hux’s secretary to interrogate the rebel. Instead of answering, Kylo steps into the refresher, leaving the lights off. 

 

The stormtroopers step aside as Kylo enters the interrogation room. The doors slide shut behind him. He’s alone with the rebel.

“I’m impressed,” Kylo says, “I didn’t know you were one of the best pilots of the Resistance.”

He’s read the report. The man in front of him is Poe Dameron. A name that is not unknown to Kylo. No other has taken out as many of their TIE fighters as Dameron has. Without ever being shot himself.

“You’re alone. No accomplices. Why might that be?” Kylo steps closer, his boots heavy on the floor. Dameron’s lips are pressed tight, his hair is sticky with blood. Kylo has been told the droids have done their utmost. To no avail. So far only a few individuals have resisted the First Order’s droids.

“You said nothing. How _honourable_ ,” Kylo taunts.

“Maybe you should rethink your methods,” Dameron says hoarsely, a glint in his dark eyes.

“Maybe we should,” Kylo agrees.

He reaches out his hand and slowly pulls at the Force. It hums around him, a dark pulse knit into the very fabric of space, and of time. Dameron groans. His defense is stronger than most, full of hope and _light_ , the whispers of loved-ones and the conviction of doing the right thing, even if it means dying. Yet the will to live is strong in Dameron, as is his belief to survive this imprisonment and return to his loved-ones.

Unseen under the mask, Kylo purses his lips in disgust. The audacity. The arrogance. These rebels who tear apart the galaxy, who claim to serve a just regime. A government that is no less cruel than the First Order, but far more deceitful and corrupt—Kylo breaks through Dameron’s shields, and he does it easily. He rives into Dameron, unleashing his rage, black and hungry as half-starved hounds. Dameron cries out. His head snaps back, his throat is bared and Kylo is so tempted to activate his lightsaber and _slice_ it.

Dameron’s scream echoes in the room as Kylo mauls through his mind and sees the ones Dameron loves. A girl and a boy, both hard-eyed, but smiling. Flashes of memories, the boy, wearing Dameron’s jacket, and the girl flying an old light-freighter. All three of them, laughing, tipsy, their knees touching.

 _I will find them_ , Kylo promises, _and I will kill them._

“No,” Dameron cries.

“I will kill the boy first. _Finn._ Slowly. I will let them know it was you who brought them death.”

Dameron tosses in the interrogation seat, throws himself against his restraints.

“Will they beg for mercy, what do you think?” Kylo leans down to him. “Tell me what you know.”

“No. The Resistance will not be intimidated by you,” Dameron rasps.

Slowly, Kylo takes off his mask. Dameron stares at him. Surprise flickers in Dameron’s gaze. Disbelieve. They all expect a monster underneath this mask.

Kylo looks into Dameron’s eyes and moves closer.

“Tell me what you know, and I will spare them,” he says softly. “I can just take the knowledge from you, you know…If you tell me now, you will die, but your friends will survive.”

Dameron spits at his face.

With a snarl Kylo rips into Dameron’s mind.

What he finds, is unexpected.

 

“Tell me what you have found,” Hux demands when Kylo exits the interrogation room. Hux looks impeccable, hair and uniform pristine.

“A suicide mission,” Kylo says simply and leaves.

 

 

**viii.**

 

It takes them five days at hyper-speed to cross the Outer Rim, passing by Yavin and Ithor, until they get to Starkiller Base in the northern part of the Unknown Regions.

They arrive at nightfall. Icy winds howl and carry with them snow and hail. The coniferous trees creak and groan, bending to the winds. Stormtroopers in heavy gear greet Kylo and his knights and escort them to their quarters. Officers stride swiftly through the hallways, their faces stern.

 

An hour after their arrival, Kylo is called to meet with Snoke via holo, as is General Hux.

Issar is at his side as he makes his way to the holo-hall. They have barely spoken, but Kylo feels her worry. It angers him. As they reach the gates of the hall, Captain Phasma bars their way. She stands taller than Kylo. Her armour is perfectly polished.

“You have no access here,” Phasma says to Issar. A surge of spite spills from Issar into the Force.

“And you have no authority over me,” Issar gnarls.

Phasma chuckles, the sound echoes mechanically through her mask. She does not step out of the way. Issar’s hand moves to one of her blasters, gloved hands curling over the grip.

“Get your knight in order,” rings Hux’s acrid voice. He approaches from behind Phasma, greatcoat draped over his shoulders, giving weight to his appearance.

“She is right,” Kylo states plainly, “Your captain has no authority over her. And neither do you, general.”

“Lord Ren,” Hux says, lips tight, “Supreme Leader Snoke awaits us.”

Kylo nods towards Issar and she falls back. Phasma moves aside.

Together with Hux, Kylo enters while Phasma and Issar remain outside. Before they reach the hall in which Snoke gives his audience via holo-vid, Hux steps into his way and into his space. He is close now.

“Careful, Ren,” Hux says. A threat is laced into his voice. “Lord Vader may be your kin, but do not forget where your loyalties lie.”

Kylo leans in, and through the mask, looks into Hux’s eyes.

“Out of my way,” Kylo says.

Hux purses his lips, defiant. Such venom in his glare.

“As you said, general: Supreme Leader Snoke _awaits_ us,” Kylo says.

Hux’s eyes narrow, but he concedes. They proceed.

Snoke’s holo appears magnified, and in the quiet of the room his voice shatters against the walls. His pale, scarred face has the size of a grown man. Kylo swallows thickly. He remembers the dream, remembers Snoke’s susurrations. Fear tinges Kylo’s thoughts. He clenches his fists at his sides. Snoke must suspect something.

“How is the progress, general?” Snoke’s voice echoes.

“Very well, Supreme Leader. Changes must be made in the artificial containment field. It will be done in two days. Then, the weapon will be ready.”

“Good. What about the rebel?” Now Snoke turns towards Kylo.

“A madman on a suicide mission,” Kylo says.

“Get more information. He might prove useful.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader.”

“The Resistance grows bolder every day,” Hux interjects, “There are rumours about finding Luke Skywalker.”

Kylo’s head snaps up.

“What do you propose general?” Snoke asks and leans forward in his brimstone throne.

“Make an example. Wipe out the Republic’s fleet. And their capital,” Hux says and takes a step forward, a fell shine in his eyes.

“Hosnian Prime.”

“We are able to destroy the whole system.”

Snoke leans back, tapping one of his long, knaggy fingers against his lips.

“They have stood in our way for too long. And they must not find Skywalker,” Snoke says.

Pause. Then Snoke says, “Do it.”

Hux nods and turns on his heel, his steps echo in the vast hall. When Hux is gone, Snoke turns towards Kylo.

“How is Lord Vader?” Snoke asks and tilts his head.

“He is well,” Kylo says.

“And your training with him?”

“Progressing.”

Snoke nods, pleased.

“I have a task for you,” Snoke says, leaning forward again.

“What is it, master?”

“Bring Luke Skywalker to me.”

 

When Kylo exits the hall, Issar is still there. She’s alone, leaning against the opposite wall, hand on her blaster. As always her black robe is heavy with straps of explosives, ammunition, and the occasional knife. She has taken off her mask, blond hair sticky on her face. She looks up at him now, corners of her grey eyes crinkling. She does not quite smile.

“Waiting wasn’t necessary,” he says, voice neutral through the filtering.

She snorts quietly, puts her mask back on and pushes herself off the wall.

“Locate Lord Vader,” he says as they walk.

She unclasps her comm, starts typing. They take a private shuttle back to the S-F barracks. Night reigns, and hail drums sharply against the windows of the shuttle. Outside, the world is a swirl of snow, black for the faint glint of lamps, swallowed by darkness. The storm howls, wordless, primordial.

“Lord Vader is on the bridge with General Hux,” Issar says as they exit the shuttle, comm in hand. Kylo grits his teeth. He ducks under the awning of the barracks and enters, as does Issar.

As they arrive at his room, Kylo bids her to leave. She bows her head and retires.

His belongings have been brought in. He changes into a heavier robe, then departs for the bridge.

 

He descries them immediately. They appear to be in a conversation. Vader has tilted his head, he stands towering, in assured assertiveness. Hux has his hands clasped at his back, the line of his spine is straight, tension knit into his stance. Their voices are faint, but loud enough for Kylo to make out the words.

“—visited his Academy on Arkanis. The cadets followed him on his heel,” Vader says, voice low and smooth, but conversational.

Hux answers nothing.

“Indeed, you are his spitting image, general. Do I remember correctly that he stood taller than you?”

“Yes,” Hux grits out.

“You are a smaller man, general, but not a lesser,” Vader says and something dangerous sways in his tone. Then Vader turns around, gesturing for Kylo to come closer. Hux turns around too, lips tight. The grey shadows underneath Hux’s eyes have darkened. For a heartbeat their gazes meet, before Kylo veers his attention back to Vader.

“May I speak with you?” Kylo asks.

Vader inclines his head towards Hux, Hux mirrors the gesture. Then Vader comes towards him and they begin walking. Vader leads the way.

 _This must not be overheard_ , Kylo murmurs into Vader’s mind.

 _The rebel?_ Vader’s voice is so close. A shudder runs over Kylo’s back and heat sinks down into his pelvis.

_Yes. He spoke of the—_

_Indeed. The rebel must not know it is you who gives them to him_ , Vader murmurs.

_How am I supposed to do that?_

_Plant a false memory. I know you are capable of it._

_Are you certain_ —?

_Do you question me?_

_No._ Kylo swallows thickly. _There is more. Snoke asked me...to find Luke._ Kylo fists his hands at his sides, his stride becomes a fraction more forceful. His heart pounds heavy. A moment of stentorian silence.

_I see._

There is anger knit into the Force, cracking as thunder.

 _Has Snoke reached out to you before?_ Vader asks.

_Yes. He sent me a vision._

_Have you responded?_

_No._ Kylo says.

Vader’s spine bolts straighter. _Then he knows. Snoke is unable to prevent the damage. But he can control it. He is trying to weaken us by singling us out. You must go nonetheless. Find my son._

Kylo cannot bear to look at him. Can barely breathe. _My son_. It’s searing into him, these words, how they echo in his mind.

 _No-one knows where he is_ , Kylo retorts, voice choked even in his mind.

Now Vader turns to him, his hand on Kylo’s arm. _There is one who might._

Kylo’s eyes widen.

_Mother._

_Yes. Extract her location from the rebel._

 

The next two days, Kylo practises with Vader, both in combat and Force-use. There are no nights to his days. The Force drums all around him, an inescapable, sable heartbeat. And with and within it, he shapes memories. He practises it on lower staff, the smallest and most easily exchanged cogs in their system. Vader leads him through it, his voice ever at Kylo’s ear. The sight of him, and the scent of him, and here Kylo at Vader’s knee, plucking the strings Vader holds in his hands. They resonate in the Force. Slowly, Kylo learns not only to take but to make. First vague memories, unspoken things, wafts easily dispersed, then clearer voices. There is a price to this creation, an opening of the veins. No new thing can be made of the void.

When at last he has mastered it, he feels bloodless.

 

No-one obstructs Kylo’s path. He walks unseen by the guards, the Force clouding their eyes. The hallways are empty. Except for the guards, all attend Hux’s speech upon the completion of the weapon.

The rebel is asleep when Kylo enters. The reek of blood and sweat hangs thickly in the air. The droids have been working on Dameron once more, and once more the pilot has told them nothing. Underneath his scorn, Kylo feels a needling sense of pride towards this man.

Vader chose Poe well.

Careful not to wake him, Kylo moves closer. For a moment Kylo simply looks at him, before easing himself gently into Dameron’s mind. Dameron’s skin is sun-tanned, a dark stubble accentuates the square lines of his jaw. _Handsome_ , Kylo thinks with disdain. He reaches out and grazes his gloved knuckles against that jaw. Dameron’s eyes fly open. Kylo smiles and curls his fingers around Dameron’s throat.

“Hush,” he says lowly, voice resonating with the Force and Dameron’s eyelids droop, his jaw goes slack, his lips part, baring a sliver of teeth.

“Good,” Kylo murmurs praisingly.

Dameron’s mind is hazy. Faint laughter, a flashing smile, the memory of a warm embrace, a planet, covered with a thick canopy of forest, azure lakes and wide seas and at the horizon Ileenium, blazing and bright. D’Qar. _Home._ And there: the boy, Finn, and his eyes, gleaming, and his touch, so soft. The girl, on her lips a mischievous smile, her stance ready. A hand on her shoulder, wrinkled, delicate. _General Organa_. _Mother_. Kylo winces, bites his lip bloody. _Concentrate. Concentrate_ . The evening breeze in their hair, conviction, determination, _hope_ , all underlain with the threat of danger and the call to rise and free himself. _Must find the informant_ , Dameron thinks, _must get the plans. The plans…_

And in Dameron’s mind, Kylo opens himself up. To Dameron’s fears, to his belief, the _love_ Dameron feels for the boy, the girl, and it pulls at Kylo with voices gentle and sharp as razor-blades, blinding, the light, the light—he prays and cannot breathe, but this is how it must be, perhaps always must be, no, he cannot—he must _concentrate_ —  

Kylo grits his teeth. And slowly he shapes a phantom into the fabric of Dameron’s mind. Creates the Informant, gives him his eyes, carves the line of his shoulders like Hux’s, makes his almost-smile that of Issar. The Informant comes to life in Dameron’s mind. _The Informant breaks into the interrogation room, and gives to Dameron, the plans for Starkiller Base. ‘For the Resistance,’ the Informant says, ‘for a galaxy free of tyranny.’_ _‘Bless you, my brother,’ Dameron says and clasps the Informant’s shoulder, ‘Thank you.’ ‘Hurry,’ the Informant says._

Kylo slips the small device Vader has had made, containing the plans, into the inner pocket of Dameron’s coat. Then he opens Dameron’s restrains. With a last look, Kylo pulls out of Dameron’s mind. Sweat dries at Kylo’s temples. He feels cold and waning, anaemic in the hueless light. He breathes in deeply and exits the room. When he is far enough, he wakes Dameron swiftly with a bolt of the Force. He kills the guards and leaves.

 

Hux has just finished his speech. The stormtroopers shout their hail and salute. Kylo joins his knights at the bridge. Bysshe and Rho linger at the back. Quia stands unbent, head tilted up and gaze set onto the podium. Daion and Issar move to his left and right, flanking him.

A rift of light cuts through the darkening skies. The weapon devours the sunlight, accumulating its energy in a colossal firing-cylinder carved over miles and miles into the planet’s surface.

The sun extinguishes. Ageless night falls.

Then the weapon is fully charged. Hux gives the command.

As a blazing maelstrom the energy surges upwards, a squall sweeps over them and tears at their clothes as the energy is directed at the Hosnian system. It screws into the sky and tunnels into hyperspace.

Kylo watches its splendour reflect on Hux’s face. Hux’s pale eyes, wide and gleaming. Transcendent. A cold quiver of bliss and death on Hux’s lips.

 

Unseen by all, Poe Dameron takes off in a stolen TIE ship. Kylo feels his departure as a hum in the Force. In a few minutes the security breach might be noticed, but by then it will be too late.

 

 

**ix.**

 

The storm howls. It bends the trees and breaks the slim. Their groaning and creaking is in the air, the splintering of their wooden skeletons.

There’s a disturbance in the Force. A blazing hole where a new star has been born from the blackened core of Hosnian Prime. The planets of the Hosnian system swallowed, and their populations with them. Billions of voices suddenly smothered, and then silenced.

Kylo lies in the dark, eyes wide open. Hail thrums against the window, a staccato rhythm against the glass.

It is  in this moment of rest that fear crawls into his thoughts. It comes with the taste of rot on his tongue. Sweats of fever and torridity. It is nameless, faceless.

Before Kylo knows what he is doing, he is on his feet. He dresses hurriedly and heads out.

The way from the S-F barracks to the lodgings of the high military ranks exposes him to the storm, if briefly. It screams its wordless howl at him, renders him deaf.

As he arrives his robe is drenched. He is shivering from the cold. The guards at the entrance stand at attention. Kylo can feel their fear as a hound that smells blood. Underneath the mask he bares his teeth. He resists the urge to tear them apart.

A moment later, he presses his hand against the manual of Hux’s door, requesting entrance. The door slides open. Hux stares at him, lips pursed in deprecation, but he steps aside and lets Kylo in.

Kylo takes his mask off. His boots leave wet traces on the floor as he walks towards Hux who stands at his desk, brushing the tip of his cigarette against the rim of the ashtray before taking another drag. Slowly Hux breathes out the smoke. Still, Kylo can feel the gnawings of fear, rising whispers and the initial nausea that accompanies failure.

Now there is Hux’s hand on his shoulder, pressing.

Kylo sinks to his knees. Hux grips his chin and coaxes Kylo’s lips open with his thumb. Hux is lucent. Of-lightning. With narrowed eyes, Kylo watches as Hux sucks on his cigarette. Then Hux tilts Kylo’s chin upwards and extinguishes the cigarette on Kylo’s tongue.

The pain lasts just a moment.

 

By morning, a message to Kylo’s comm informs him of a meeting concerning the investigation of the rebel’s escape. A number of high ranking, stern-faced officers gather in the situation room. The head of security gives a brief summary of the events, and claims that there had to be aid from one of their own. The atmosphere is tense. Kylo remains unmoved. He has slept only an hour. Flecks of light flicker behind his eyelids. At the head of the table, Hux listens, sharp of gaze. Above Hux’s collar-line is the hint of contused skin. Heat coils in Kylo’s stomach. Hux had been inside him, gnashing his teeth, as Kylo had sucked the bruise into his neck.

“Lord Ren, was there anything more the rebel revealed to you?”

Kylo’s attention snaps back to the matter at hand. He straightens his spine.

“There is something else I extracted from the rebel,” Kylo says.

“What is that, Lord Ren?” Hux asks, leaning forward, anger concealed to all but Kylo.

“The location of their base,” Kylo says. “It’s D’Qar.”

“Why didn’t you tell us that after you interrogated the rebel _a week ago_?” Colonel Sahia gasps, thunderstruck.

“I am telling you now,” Kylo says calmly.

The colonel stands, slamming his hands on the table.

“This is _unacceptable_ ,” Sahia shrieks. The word ‘treason’ hangs on his lips.

Hux cuts him off.

“ _Sit_ , colonel,” Hux commands sharply. “I have direct orders from Supreme Leader Snoke to let Lord Ren progress in this matter as he wishes.” Hux grits the words out, face forced into neutrality.

“I am leaving at hour 1300,” Kylo says and stands, towering over them. Hux glares at him, knuckles white under the table.

“Good day,” Kylo says, offish, and exits the room.

 

It’s on the way to Vader’s quarters, that Kylo realises how close the situation had just been to escalating.

Vader sits inside the colossal machine that maintains his body and its mechanics. Its whirr echoes low in the room. Vader’s mask is let down on his maimed face carefully, cogs clicking into place.

“Kylo,” Vader says and Kylo shivers, biting his lip—the previous night, Hux, _enjoying_ Hux shoving him _down_ , being Hux’s eager wh—

Kylo tastes blood in his mouth.

“They suspect me,” Kylo presses.

“Of course they do,” Vader says gallantly.

“But why did Snoke let me go—?”

Vader cuts him off with a swipe of his hand and says, “As I told you, Snoke tries to separate us.”

“Should I not stay then?” Kylo asks, sudden desperation gripping him.

“No,” Vader snaps, and his anger swells.

Kylo breathes in through his nose, nostrils flaring, his lip quivering. He feels the sting of tears brimming at his eyes. He turns around quickly.

“You _will_ find your mother, and you will extract my son’s location from her,” Vader thunders, the Force trembling around him.

“Yes,” Kylo chokes.

“Good. Now come here.” Vader’s voice softens. Kylo sucks in a deep breath, facing Vader once more. Vader gets up from the machine’s seat. His gloved hand grazes Kylo’s cheek.

“Do not disappoint me,” Vader says.

“I won’t,” Kylo haws.

 

An hour before his departure to D’Qar, Kylo assembles his knights.

Issar voices her concerns about Kylo leaving without at least one of them at his side. As his second in command, Kylo heeds her. However, he dismisses her concern. This, he must do alone. Daion’s hand lingers on Issar’s arm, his lips are pressed tight. Kylo knows Daion’s injury is still healing. Quia stands motionless, her face expressionless. Bysshe mutters under his breath, words in the old tongue, a mantra of protection. And at his side, Rho, who has their arms crossed before their chest, brows knit into a frown.

“Be wary,” Kylo commands.

“Yes, master,” they all say in unison.

After he has given them further instructions, among them to convey a message, and placed them under Vader’s command, he dismisses them. Quia is the first to leave, her stride unrelenting, then Rho and Bysshe, followed by Daion who gives Kylo a curt nod. Only Issar tarries at the door.

“Kylo,” she says. It has been long since she called him by his name and not his title. Bold, even for her. But she does not ask about General Organa. She does not ask what he will do.

“Are you certain?” She asks.

“I must be,” he says, toneless. He does not look at her. “I have no choice.”

And she knows this, too.

 

The ship is set to autopilot for the first day.

The moment the ship breaks through Starkiller’s orbit, Kylo sinks down on the bed and into the silence. He tries not to think about the first time he flew. Of learning how to fly the Millenium Falcon in stolen hours, with Chewbacca and Han. When he had not yet been Kylo Ren. When he had stood next to his tight-faced mother, watching her crumble every time Han took off for an oblique mission. How she and Han would embrace desperately. How a day later, she too would depart to help build the New Republic while in some far-off corner of the galaxy, Han gambled with his life.

He, _Ben_ , would stay behind. And listen to the voice that spoke to him of destiny, and Darth Vader.

Kylo shivers. He remembers well, Snoke’s tidal tone and the strength that in him slumbers.

Kylo lies on his back and claws at the sheets until exhaustion strikes him down.

 

Issar makes contact the next morning.

“Master,” she says. There are hurried steps in the background. Issar’s breath comes quickly.

“What happened?” He snaps, sitting up in the bed.

“They removed our troop command.”

“ _What_?”

“Yes,” Issar hisses. Then her voice drops into a whisper, “Phasma. Hux’s command.”

Kylo gnashes his teeth.

“What of Lord Vader?”

“Under constant surveillance.”

Kylo sucks in a shaking breath, feels like suffocating. His fingers twitch, where is his saber? _Where is it_? But he cannot use it here. Cannot let go. He will _die_.

“How...how did he seem?” Kylo asks, tilting his head back, staring at the ceiling, unseeing.

“At ease. What should I do?”

“Nothing. Stay with the others. Follow Lord Vader’s lead.”

“Yes, master.”

“Were you able to convey the message?”

“No, not yet. Without the troop command—”

“ _Find a way_ ,” Kylo snaps.

“Yes, master.”

“Dismissed.”

Kylo disconnects the call. He focuses on flying the ship, keeping all the metres in check. It will take him about nine days to get to D’Qar, even with the autopilot taking over in the night.

The next days, there is nothing. Just the blackness of space, vast, void, and strung into it: the Force, an ocean of noise in the voicelessness of the universe. In this noise, Kylo tries to find what there is of Vader’s presence. What Vader allows him to grasp. Kylo grazes against him, and there: a brush of Vader’s mind. The image of Luke flashes before Kylo’s eyes. Bright and brave and unrelenting, so young and strong, eyes that look at him— Kylo snarls, retreats.

He surrenders to silence.

 

When on the seventh day Issar has still not contacted him, Kylo knows something is wrong. There is disharmony in the Force. Once more, Kylo tries to reach out, tries to get hold of Issar or one of his other knights, but they do not respond. Whatever is happening on Starkiller Base has their full attention. Kylo thinks of Hux, of his composed face, his composed _mind_ , and regrets not tearing into his memories until Hux would had broken before him. And yet, Hux knows too much of torture. Men like him do not break easily. Hatred sears in Kylo. They should have killed Hux. He’s too dangerous. Kylo had known it, but Vader—

Issar calls. The next second, he feels what has happened.

“Master,” Issar says, toneless. “Daion and Bysshe are dead.”

Kylo’s finger tremble. He feels like falling. Quiet. Suffocating.

Kylo says nothing.

“Rho was captured. They went berserk when Bysshe—”

Kylo cuts her off. “Where are you now?”

“Station B43. They won’t find me.” There’s an edge to her voice that cuts. Kylo knows, she and Daion had been close. He feels his absence as well, a silence that prevails. Hux, he thinks, _Hux_.

“Have you conveyed the _message_?” Kylo asks.

“I have. _They_ should be on the way to Starkiller Base, now.”

“Good. Free Rho. Unite with Lord Vader,” Kylo hisses.

“Yes, master.”

“Do not fail me, Issar. Do not die.”  Kylo’s voice is low, dark with hatred. Kylo knows Issar can be reckless, but never has she been moribund, not even in the throes of despair. Unlike him.

“Yes, master,” Issar bites.

“Inform me once you have _done it_ ,” he presses aggressively.

“Yes, master.”

The call disconnects.

It is only then that Kylo truly understands. Three of his knights left. Vader under surveillance. Kylo wants to turn back. Wants to descend upon Starkiller Base and _butcher_ who stands in his way, but he cannot, he cannot, he has to get to D’Qar, has to face _her_ , has to get the coordinates of Luke— _Luke_ , heat rends into Kylo, furious, foul, he cannot breathe, cannot think, and even now, midst the black billows of his raging mind, there is the call of the light.

It calls with his mother’s voice. It calls to Ben Solo.

Kylo chokes on it, his finger grasping, clutching. _Repentance_ , the light demands, beguiling, and Kylo wants to—wants to—his mother’s warmth, strength and softness both. Safety. But with the rise and fall of his shaking breath, Kylo knows, there is no going back, there is only this: Becoming.

 

In the night, Kylo dreams of sunrise. Of being with her, of Han Solo coming back. Of playing Dejarik with Chewbacca, of training with the other Jedi younglings. He dreams of being Ben Solo.

He wakes to silence and black infinity. He lies in bed and traces of salt dry on his cheeks. His lips press prayers into the dark.

 

He enters D’Qar’s orbit on the 1700 hour of the eighth day, one day earlier than the approximate calculation. By now, his ship must’ve appeared on the scanners of the Resistance. The descent is smooth and without incident. Shortly before he reaches the ground, not a mile from the Resistance’s base, a message comes in.

_Identify yourself._

Kylo picks up the communication link. “Kylo Ren, master of the Knights of Ren. I demand to speak to General Organa.”

A moment of static silence.

Then: “We could shoot you right now.”

Kylo huffs. It sounds mechanic through his mask.

“You _won’t_. You know better, after the Hosnian System.”

Again, silence, this time dragging on.

Kylo is about to disconnect when he hears her voice.

“Ben,” his mother says. Under her strength lies a terrible tenderness.

“Ben Solo is dead,” he says, voice clinical through the mask. “Meet me at my ship. No escorte. If you do not cooperate, D’Qar will be pulverised.”

No answer. He knows what they discuss: trying to take him hostage, shooting him now, or, indeed complying. Trying to take him hostage is too great a risk since most of their fleet is dispatched elsewhere. They’ve gotten Issar’s message, after all, and should be on the way to Starkiller Base. Here, they have next to no fire power. And they will not shoot him under his mother’s command. They will comply.

“In half an hour,” his mother says.

 

The fabric of time dissolves before him. Ileenium is set low. The horizon a wound. Light seeps into the clouds like blood. The rustle of trees, winds that carry the scent of cedar and pine. Quietude overlays all. A standstill at the heart of a hurricane.

 

When she arrives, she comes with splendour, radiant, swathing through shadow. Her wrinkled face. Her glinting eyes. She is strong. And she is lovely still. Kylo cannot breathe.

“Ben,” she says. “Ben.”

She is not alone. An escort waits behind the clearing of trees, but it matters not. Now, she tilts her head upward.

“Take off that mask.”

He does, and barely controls the trembling of his fingers.

“My son,” she says and her voice is close to breaking.

“Your son is dead,” Kylo chokes.

She smiles, defiant, confident. Then she steps forward. He bends down as she reaches up. Her warm hand on his cheek. He takes a desperate breath. Tears veil his view.

“Tell me,” Kylo presses. Her thumb rubs gently over his cheekbone. Her fingers curl at his neck. He cannot think. Her touch too familiar, too warm.

“Tell me where Luke is,” he says. He feels like breaking.

“Come back, “ she says, softly.

“You still love me.”

“Always,” his mother says. Her eyes glint wetly.

“How?”

Her hand moves to his chin, tilts it up gently.

“Love is not an emotion,” she says, “Love is a promise.”

He stares at her through his tears.

“I love you too,” he whispers.

“I know,” she says, voice breaking.

Then he is in her arms. Breathes in her scent. He wraps one arm around her, clawing his fingers into the thick cloth of her jacket. She holds him. His tears smear at her neck, into her hair.

Ileenium sinks behind the horizon. Night falls.

“Ben,” she murmurs.

But Ben Solo is dead.

Something rises inside him. The sway of vision. Of destiny. Becoming. His lips quiver, his eyes are wide. He knows, he _knows_ what to do—Kylo’s hand tightens around the heft of his lightsaber.

He activates the lightsaber. It pierces through her.

Its distorted hiss rings in Kylo’s ears. She clutches at him. Blood spills warmly onto his hands, seeps through his glove and sleeve. She doesn’t let go, but Kylo moves back, her fingers glide over his arm, her hand lies in his for a heartbeat. She takes a staggering step towards him. Something nameless and divine draws in. Kylo looks into her eyes.

Then he rives into her mind. He takes Luke’s location from her.

She falls to the ground. He is shaking. There are shouts, her escort, shots being fired, none reaches him—

He watches how her eyes dim.

Then he turns around. Enters the ship, shields up. He fires at the approaching soldiers, and they perish as she has perished, the blows of their blasters bounce off his shields, crash into the trees, tearing up the earth. Kylo’s ship lifts from the ground. He does not think, his blood rages in his veins, his heartbeat the steps of titans, he fires more shots.

Then the ship takes off and breaks through D’Qar’s orbit a moment later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -"Love is not an emotion, love is a promise." is a quote I stole from Doctor Who.  
> -"When she arrives, she comes with splendour, radiant, swathing through shadow." is a reference to [Fiat Lux](http://www.lyricsmania.com/fiat_lux_english_translation_lyrics_einsturzende_neubauten.html) by Einstürzende Neubauten.  
> -Kylo is low-key gay for Poe. 
> 
> I hope the last scene was as emotional for you guys as it was for me writing it.  
> Please let me know what you think!


	4. Rex Tremendae

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks goes to the [love of my life](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelas), who betas this story and whose support means everything to me. I love you. Writing, talking to you, and seeing your comments/suggestions are some of the brightest moments in my life.

The image of her dimming eyes.

There had been no rage, only regret in her gaze. And forgiveness. It is knife-edged, stinging at his side. But Kylo barely feels it now. His own vision is all he sees. His becoming. Making himself into more than he was, more than a man, more than this pain. A creature of might. Of rising _power_.

A message waits on his comm. It’s from Issar: _Rho is freed_.

The first day on his way back passes quickly. Inside, he is still trembling, the echoes of what happened reverberating in his skull.

 

On the fourth day, Issar contacts him directly.

“Master,” she says, voice strained, “There’s been an attempt on Lord Vader’s life.”

A heartbeat of silence.

“Is he dead?” He asks, toneless, hurried.

“No. He’s unharmed.”

Kylo breathes out slowly through his nostrils, closes his eyes. Rage boils in his veins.

“The assassin?” He asks.

“Dead.”

“So you don’t know who gave the command,” he presses.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Ire simmers in Issar’s tone.

With a fell swoop Kylo stands, puts the ship on autopilot and marches into the backroom. _Of course_ it is obvious.

“Get me proof that it was Hux,” he snaps and nearly crushes the comm-device in his hand.

“Understood,” she grits out. “There is more.”

“What?” Kylo snarls.

“Quia has betrayed us.”

Kylo closes his eyes for a brief moment. Needs to control himself not to lash out and destroy part of the ship. His fingers clutch hard around the comm-device.

“What has she told them?” Kylo asks.

“I’m uncertain. Perhaps everything.”

“Kill her,” Kylo hisses, “ _kill her_.” Kylo takes a deep breath. “Find out what she has told them. If they know the Resistance’s fleet is coming, lower the shields. Starkiller Base must be vulnerable. Do not get caught.”

“Understood.”

“Any word from Lord Vader?”

“No. I have not been able to contact him.”

Kylo takes another deep breath.

“Make it happen,” Kylo hisses.

“Yes, master.”

 

Kylo arrives at Starkiller Base. All squadrons of the First Order’s TIE fighters are up in the air. It is chaos. For a moment, Kylo watches. Blasts of energy crashing into buildings, the Resistance’s fleet aiming for the weapon’s thermal oscillator. Each blow damages the gigantic cylinder, disturbing the fragile balance of the containment field that the oscillator generates to control the dark energy powering the weapon. On the ground and in the air, Hux’s soldiers are failing and dying. It is a spectacle, one that most certainly will remove Hux from Snoke’s favour, as Vader had put it. With grim satisfaction Kylo turns his ship back to the _Finalizer_.

Issar awaits him at the docks. They fall into a quick stride, crossing the hangar. They are alone.

 _Where is Rho?_ Kylo asks.

_On the ground. Planting explosives in the oscillator._

_Good. And Quia?_

_I couldn’t find her_.

Kylo curls his finger into fists.

 _What has she told them?_ Kylo asks.

 _Not much. They knew the Resistance’s fleet is approaching. I doubt she told them more. She would have incriminated herself, had she told them_ how _the Resistance got their hands on the plans for Starkiller Base_ , Issar tells him.

_Good. We—_

Suddenly, Kylo swirls around.

A deadly needle of energy stops mid-air.

The Force rushes through Kylo. He snarls and follows the way of the blast back to who shot it.

There she is, Quia, in the cockpit of a crane, some twelve feet above them, recharging her BR-66 rifle.

The next shot is directed at Issar. Issar sidesteps and dashes forward, blaster in both hands, firing. Quia ducks. She fires back.

Hatred surges up in Kylo. Quia’s betrayal knife twisting inside him. Daion’s and Bysshe’s death. Two, who had followed him. Bysshe, whom Kylo stole from the sea. Feverish and calm, tying the knights together. He and Rho, a lingering presence at Kylo’s back, deceiving their enemies with soft words, knife-edged.

And Daion, whom Kylo had known for a decade, who had been at Kylo’s side hunting jedis, fighting back to back, stitching up Kylo’s wounds, sharing silences. Back when it had been only Kylo, Issar and Daion.

Their absence is as light quenched: total.

Kylo approaches quickly. One of Issar’s shots grazes Quia’s side. She goes down. Kylo activates his lightsaber. A shout breaks from his lips, he slashes against where the crane’s tower connects to the vehicle underneath. With one loud creak the crane sways to the side. It crashes down. Sparks fly where the crane scrapes against the metal floor. Quia, albeit wounded, does a perfect roll and comes back to her feet.

Before Quia can fire another shot, Issar throws her dagger. It thrusts into Quia’s neck. Blood gushes onto Quia’s gloved hands as she tries to stop the bleeding. With a few quick strides Issar and Kylo reach her. Quia stumbles forward. Kylo rips the mask from her face. With a single kick he brings her to her knees.

“Let me,” Issar hisses, gripping Quia’s chin and forcing her gaze upwards. Quia’s eyes are wide. She is losing blood quickly. She’ll be dead in a minute.

“Traitor!” Issar screams and wrenches her dagger from Quia’s throat. Blood spurts out. Quia slumps forward, hands grasping at Issar’s hip.

“ _Get back_!” Kylo shouts. In Quia’s hands: one of Issar’s grenades. Quia bares her teeth and pulls off the safety ring. Kylo yanks Issar to the side. They run. The explosion hits. Kylo rips into the Force and for a moment stops the explosion until they are out of range. The impact throws them back anyway. His head hits the floor. Darkness. Then he’s on his feet. Quia’s remains rain down on them. Next to him, Issar gets back up, clutching his arm to steady herself, but only briefly. They are both smeared with Quia’s blood and guts. For a moment they just stand and breathe. They say nothing. Issar takes off her mask and spits on what looks like part of Quia’s brain.

They leave.

 

No-one hinders them. The few stormtroopers who are not dispatched in the air or on the ground get out of their way. While crossing the command bridge, they learn that General Hux is still on the ground. Hux must be thinking he may still be able to win this fight. Underneath his mask, Kylo sneers. With Rho planting explosives in the oscillator, it should not take long until the containment field is destroyed and the dark energy surges into the planet’s core. Once it happens, Starkiller Base will be lost.

Ten minutes later they reach Vader’s quarters.

Vader stands before the viewport, his hands clasped loosely at his back. Issar remains at the door, uneasy. Kylo steps closer.

“Did you acquire the information from your mother?”

“Yes,” Kylo says.

Vader turns around. Behind Vader, the thermal oscillator breaks into the planet’s surface. The grounds rupture.

“Good,” Vader says, pleased. “Now, there is one more thing you must do.”

 

Kylo’s Υ-class shuttle descends on the quaking ground, right in front of the operation command post. Issar is flying the shuttle. She stays in the cockpit as Kylo exits. The doors of the shaking building open. Hux strides towards Kylo quickly. Hux is alone, his protection squad left behind, possibly dead. Hux’s face is blank, controlled, but Kylo hears the pandemonium inside Hux’s mind. Without another word, Kylo leads Hux inside the shuttle. They take off and reach the _Finalizer_ a few minutes later.

In the chaos, the evacuation of the Starkiller Base takes longer than expected, but Hux insists on not leaving any officer behind. Kylo slips into Hux’s mind and hears Hux think coldly: _These are_ my _soldiers, and my insurance._

Starkiller Base collapses on itself. The planet’s surface turns inward. The snow thaws and boils away in a scorching cloud. Mountains crumble and break into the depths of the planet.

The _Finalizer_ tunnels into hyperspace just before the dark energy consumes Starkiller Base and turns it into a new sun.

 

An hour later, Kylo meets with Issar and Rho in the medbay. Each of them has minor superficial wounds. By Vader’s command they let the droids treat them. They sit in silence, letting the droids disinfect, clean and dress their wounds. Daion’s and Bysshe’s absence rings in the grim quiet.

They all know that the coming days will define their destiny. Hux may suspect their involvement in Starkiller Base’s destruction, but if Vader manages to seize command, they have a chance at overthrowing Snoke. If not, they are doomed. None of this matters now. The Force pulses through them, its dark heartbeat is all they hear.

Kylo feels nothing.

 

It is late. The hallways are empty. Kylo’s steps echo hollow.

Hux opens his door and lets Kylo in. Hux’s face is ashen. The rings under his eyes have darkened. He is still wearing his uniform. Exhaustion is knit into his shoulders, but he is wide awake. A calm lies over Hux like a burnt down city witnessing a pale morning. A single thought loops through Hux’s mind: _Who gave them the plans for Starkiller Base?_

He stares at Kylo, who advances slowly.

“It was you,” Kylo says softly.

Hux does not manage a reply. A faint smile curves Kylo’s lips. He brushes his fingers over Hux’s shoulder-pads and leans in. His lips graze Hux’ cheek.

“I took them from your memories when we first fucked,” Kylo murmurs, voice low. He hears Hux swallow. Gently, Kylo nudges against Hux’s mind, a thing strung tight like a steel chord. Now it’s struck. Hux breathes in audibly. Then Hux’s control slips.

Hands at Kylo’s throat. Hux shoves him against the wall. His thumbs press against Kylo’s Adam’s apple, cutting off the air. Kylo looks into Hux’s wide, pale eyes. He does nothing. His head is getting light. Hux’s jaw and lips quiver. The fringes of Kylo’s vision dim.

Hux lets go.

A rough groan wrenches itself from Hux’s lips, he gnashes his teeth, looks away, breathes heavily, bracing his hands on his thighs, bend forward. When he turns back to Kylo, Kylo kisses him. This time, Hux does not resist. Kylo’s hands slide over Hux’s chest, and he starts to unbutton Hux’s uniform. Hux lets him, and in turn opens Kylo’s robes with nimble fingers. The rest of their clothing follows.

It is the first time Kylo sees Hux naked. He is lean and slim. He would look fragile, were his mind not of steel. Slowly, Kylo sinks to his knees. His hands glide over Hux’s body as he does, reverential. Hux breathes heavy. His skin is as pale as Kylo’s, but freckles are scattered all over it like gold dust. Kylo kisses and licks and sucks, until Hux pulls him back up and manoeuvres him to the bed.

Touch erases all thought. They kiss. They move against each other. Hux prepares him, unhurried, and Kylo arches his back, moves into the thrusts of Hux’s fingers. Shame burns on Kylo’s cheeks, but he looks Hux in the eyes regardless. Low, needy moans slip from Kylo’s lips. Suddenly Hux’s fingers are gone. Kylo watches how Hux slicks himself, then he’s above Kylo and between his thighs. He pushes in. This time it is skin against skin. Kylo claws his nails into Hux’s back, shudders, pulling Hux closer. Hux moans against his ear. It is soft. They move slowly. Kylo feels him deep inside. Without thought he twists a hand into Hux’s hair and presses his open mouth against Hux’s. The tips of their tongues meet, before Hux slides his tongue into Kylo’s mouth. One of Hux’s hands claws into the sheets next to Kylo’s head, the other wraps around Kylo’s cock and strokes him in the rhythm of his thrusts. Again, Kylo shudders. This is new, too.

Time dissolves. Their skin glistens with sweat. Low moans echo in the room. At some point, Hux turns them over, and Kylo arches his back while Hux thrusts up into him. Kylo bites his lips, watches Hux’s face, the crease of his slanted brow, still stern, his flushed cheeks and lips swollen from bites and kisses. Then Kylo gently presses a finger against Hux’s right nipple. He feels Hux’s dick twitching inside him. A curse falls from Hux’s lips. Kylo bends down and kisses it from Hux’s mouth. Their pace quickens, Hux’s thrusts go deeper. With each he brushes against that point in Kylo, until Kylo’s eyes roll back into his skull. Desperation thieves itself into their movements. Kylo clings to Hux, their breath mingles. Hux speeds up his strokes on Kylo’s cock.

Then there is only blank, white bliss. A few shallow thrusts later, Hux stills beneath him. Kylo feels liquid heat inside, trickling down his thighs. He moans quietly as Hux pulls out. More of Hux’s come slips down his thighs. Kylo shivers. With a sigh, he lies down next to Hux. They do not speak. Their arms and legs brush. Hux turns off the light.

 

The next morning, they shower together. Hux sinks down on his knees before Kylo and for the first time sucks him off while Kylo fists his hands into Hux’s wet hair. Shortly before he comes, Hux gets back up, turns Kylo around and fucks him slowly, harshly against the shower wall.

 

Kylo has barely slept, but it does not matter. He feels cold and calm. For the first time in a long while, there is silence in his mind. Numbing. Complete.

He assembles his remaining knights. Rho and Issar have taken off their masks and look at him now, carefully.

“We must scout for new knights,” Kylo begins without further ado. He’s bracing his hands on the back of a chair, back bent, looming over Issar and Rho, who sit.

“Aren’t we needed here?” Issar asks. Rho says nothing.

“ _I am_. You are not,” Kylo presses. “We must gain strength hastily.”

Uneasy silence. Needless to use the Force, Kylo knows what they are thinking. That they are moving too fast. That Daion and Bysshe just died. They cannot see: Daion’s and Bysshe’s deaths must not gain more weight than they already have, tearing them further apart. The rift must be closed quickly.

“Issar, I know you have a few recruits in mind. Both of you: Investigate.”

Rho’s brows are knit and anger twists their mouth.

“Bysshe _died_ ,” Rho hisses.

With a swipe of his hand, Kylo slams the chair against the wall. He is in front of Rho the next second, hand at their collar.

“This is _war_ , Rho!” he shouts into their face. He gives them a hard push that makes them topple over. The next second Rho is on their feet again, head bowed, teeth grit and fists clenched.

“Follow my command,” Kylo bites. He looks Issar in the eyes. She has said no more. Her lips are pressed tight. She returns his look, spine straight.

“Yes, master,” she says and she throws Rho a warning glance. Rho’s lips twitch.

“Yes, master,” Rho says.

Kylo nods at them, calms himself.

“Hux will have to deal with Starkiller’s destruction and with the Resistance for now, so the scouting has to be quick, but careful. Do not allow another traitor into our midst.”

Issar and Rho tense at that. Determination slowly comes back to them.

“We _will_ have revenge. But not now,” Kylo says, words hot on his tongue. He sees the bloodlust in his knights’ eyes. “You have clearance for all ships and weapons.”

“Yes, master,” they say in unison.

Kylo dismisses them. They leave.

A message on his comm. It’s from Vader, asking Kylo to come to his quarters.

When Kylo arrives, Vader is once more before the viewport, back turned towards Kylo. He stands tall and towering, black leather and the slick glint of his smooth mask. Light plays along its edges, sharpening the contours.

Something has changed. Kylo feels it in the Force. A distance lies between them that is greater than it was before. And yet, Kylo sees him more clearly. Images of Leia when she was young. Her potential. The vague thought of _necessity_. And Luke. Always Luke.

There is something else, too. Something Vader keeps from him, a new feeling towards Kylo—

Vader turns around sharply, comes towards Kylo with violence in his stride. Kylo shivers, but does not step back. He grits his teeth and juts his chin forward.

Vader’s hand against his cheek, caressing. It is not a gentle thing. Kylo’s heartbeat quickens. His eyes widen. Suddenly he wishes for his mask, doesn’t know why he hasn’t taken it with him, he feels naked, vulnerable—Vader’s hand slides down his cheek. Kylo cannot breathe. Then Vader’s gloved fingers squeeze around his neck. Heat shivers through Kylo. Vader leans in.

“My good boy,” Vader says. There’s no warmth in it. Kylo swallows, his Adam’s apple works against the palm of Vader’s hand. Kylo feels ice-cold.

Vader steps back.

“There are matters to be discussed,” Vader says, “As soon as all is under control, you must set out to find my son. It will not be long now.”

Before Kylo can reply, a soft buzz calls their attention to someone requesting entry.

“Ah, our guest has arrived,” Vader says and lets the door slide open with a wave of his hand.

Hux.

Kylo stares at him for a heartbeat, his impeccable appearance, then quickly averts his gaze. He remembers too clearly the night they spent together, he remembers Hux’s touches, the way they kissed, desperately, and how it felt to lie beside Hux afterwards, watching Hux sleep, their skin brushing, warmth. The unspoken words between them, none of them kind. Hux fucking him against the shower wall, Hux coming inside him, marking him—Sudden panic floods Kylo’s veins.

Does Vader know? But there is no indication Vader has just seen his thoughts.

“General, how good to see you,” Vader says.

“Lord Vader,” Hux says in stale acknowledgement.

“What is this?” Kylo snaps before he can stop himself.

Hux throws him a poisonous look. Kylo wants to claw into Hux’s mind, wants to _hurt_ him, but Vader holds him back with a simple gesture. Kylo gnashes his teeth.

“The general is here because I have a proposition to make,” Vader says and steps forward. Vader’s posture is more relaxed now, self-assurance radiates from him. Confidence and _might_. He folds his hands behind his back, leather creaking, as he slowly approaches Hux. When he speaks next, a smile resonates in his words: “I know you have just met with Snoke, general.” He leaves out Snoke’s title. Repudiation.

Hux’s lips twitch. He does not deny it.

“Snoke might forgive you for Starkiller Base, general, but he will remember your failure. You are damaged goods. And you know it.”

“What is your proposition, Lord Vader?” Hux asks coolly.

Vader leans in towards Hux, imposing. The smile in his voice turns into a sharp-edged sneer. He hisses:

“Do you think Snoke is _unaware_ of your wish to become emperor? He has _seen_ what power you wielded at Starkiller Base. Your failure gives Snoke the perfect reason to slowly strip you of your ranks. Of your _power_. Then he will crush you under his boot like an _insect_. No-one will mourn you. You will be _forgotten_.” A pause. “I however, propose an allegiance.”

Hux’s jaw trembles ever so slightly. Kylo watches how Vader’s words sink in, how Hux pales, concentrating hard not to clench his fists.

“This is treason,” Hux says.

Vader huffs a quiet laugh. “History decides who the traitor is. You know that. You have waited to rise against Snoke for a long time. This is your opportunity.”

“By joining _you_?”

“Do not pretend now, general. You have considered it already.”

Hux replies nothing.

Vader goes on: “You are a leader. _I_ am a legend. I am part of the very doctrine your soldiers internalise. You are valuable, general, but not irreplaceable. I on the other hand already have my place in history. And I’m willing to offer you yours.”

”How?” Hux’s head is tilted upwards to look at Vader, gaze cutting.

“A joint rule,” Vader says, voice low and smooth. He leans back, regards Hux.

”A triumvirate?” Hux asks and glances at Kylo for a moment.

“No,” Vader says, “Just me and _you_ , general.”

The initials of surprise flicker over Hux’s face. Hux considers it. Vader slowly circles around Hux.

“You have two choices,” Vader says, “choose wisely. It will define your destiny. What say you, general?”

A moment of silence. Hux’s thoughts are guarded, but not well enough. Kylo slips inside. Hux knows the greater part of his soldiers are loyal to him. Knows that this is what makes him valuable beyond his leadership, efficiency and ruthlessness. But Hux also knows that Vader is right, that turning his soldiers against Darth Vader would create a rift, would cost him, would _weaken_ him. He cannot risk it with Snoke at his heels. Kylo sinks deeper into Hux’s mind. Flashes of Hux’s meeting with Snoke this morning. Snoke commanding: ‘Eliminate Lord Vader. Do not fail me again.’ Two options: Proving his worth to Snoke by executing this command and dealing with Snoke at a later time. Risking to be crushed by Snoke nonetheless. Or joining Vader. Overthrowing Snoke. And then—

“Yes,” Hux says. “I will join you.” He looks first at Vader, then at Kylo, brows knit and lips pursed, something unreadable in his gaze.

“Excellent,” Vader says.

“How do we proceed?” Hux asks.

Vader regards him quietly for a moment.

“Do not be mistaken, general. This will not be an easy endeavour.”

“I am well aware.”

Vader nods and bolts straight his spine. “No-one knows you are here, general? No-one saw you?”

“No-one,” Hux confirms.

“Good. It is imperative Snoke does not suspect you.”

“Indeed,” Hux says.

“Now, blame the attempt on my life on the Resistance. Create unrest and discontent among your soldiers. Imply Snoke has failed you and all of them.”

Hux studies Vader calculatingly.

“Any further proceedings we will discuss later,” Vader says, “this must be done at once.”

“Agreed,” Hux concedes. “I will contact you, Lord Vader.” Hux gives him a curt nod.

“Very well, general,” Vader says.

For a moment Kylo watches how they look at each other. Tension is strung into the air.

Then Hux turns and leaves.

The doors slide shut.

“He is dangerous,” Kylo says.

Vader turns towards him, tilting his head.

“Are you questioning my decision?”

Kylo’s heart pounds hard and heavy in his chest.

“I am,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Because you are sleeping with him?” Vader asks quietly, viciously.

Kylo’s blood freezes in his veins. He can’t speak. Dread shatters through him with one annihilating swipe.

“Did you think I would not know?” Vader asks.

Kylo can’t answer. Vader snorts coldly, it echoes distortedly through his mask. He turns back to the viewport.

“A reckless choice. But also a useful one. However,” he turns back, “do not let your personal feelings obstruct my orders.”

“Yes,” Kylo manages.

“Good. Do not presume you can keep anything from me.”

Kylo swallows hard and simply nods.

 

A day passes.

While the losses and costs of Starkiller Base’s destruction are assessed, there is little for Kylo to do. He goes to the sparring room early in the morning. Unable to sleep he gives himself to exercise. And yet, every step he takes and every move he makes feels borrowed. The sizzling of his lightsaber, the heat from its plasma-looped blade doing nothing to distract him from the fact that the way he moves is how Luke moved, how Vader still does. Kylo feels raw, naked, wounded—

He tries not to think, to just move, repeat the stances of Shien and Djem So, _alter_ them, more aggressive, more strength, no mercy, no _sentiment_ , he’s not like Luke and he is not like—

The image of her dimming eyes.

Ileeninum sinking behind the horizon. Blood and breath. Crimson radiance. Her scent, his tears at her neck. The way she said ‘Ben’ and he remembers all: the nights she lulled him to sleep, her soft voice woven into the air. And the other nights, too. When both she and Han were gone, when he laid in bed, listening to Snoke’s murmurs, when the darkness hissed and twisted around him like a thing old and primordial. How he plead into the shadows, _please please please mother_ —

All his curses and his prayers, erased on D’Qar. A moment long. Her eyes. The echo of her voice. The echo of her love. It disgusts him. Her forgiveness knife-edged in his side.

He slashes his lightsaber into the wall, sparks fly, the lights flicker.

He only notices he is crying when he wipes his eyes, blinded.

 

Kylo does not sleep, but he dreams shapeless dreams. In them, he does not kill her.

When he wakes, relief washes over him, black and searing, and on his cheeks salt crusts his skin.

 

Another day passes. He walks the corridors of the _Finalizer_ and speaks to some of the captains, gives orders, oversees training officers whose fear is a tremor along the Force when he corrects them. Issar contacts him around noon, reporting back on her and Rho’s progress: two of five possible recruits ruled out. Kylo commands them to continue. He has some food brought to his rooms, as always, and eats hurriedly in the silence. Then he heads out again.

When he comes back late in the evening, he tears off his robes, mask discarded on his desk, and leaves only his trousers on, feet bare on the cold floor. He tries to meditate, to align his mind with the Force. But his heart beats fast and his breath is erratic. He cannot do it.

Flashes before his eyes. Her defiant and confident smile. The touch of her small hand at his cheek.

Nausea rises, chokes him and nearly he does not hear the soft buzz of the door.

Someone requests entry.

It’s not Vader. Kylo would have felt him approaching. For a moment, Kylo considers ignoring it. He checks his comm. No message. Carefully he tugs at the Force and gets the distinct impression of order, symmetry and cold, hungry _ire_.

It’s Hux.

Kylo swallows. Then he gets up and opens the door. Hux marches past him, back straight, uniform impeccable, hair perfectly combed back with pomade. He’s sharp-edged and _gleaming_.

“Ren,” he says and looks at Kylo. Hux’s eyes are light green, his lashes pale. His stare is full of contempt. Kylo feels blood rushing to his chest and cheeks and he is aware that Hux is aware. Hatred singes Kylo. His brows knit and he takes a threatening step towards Hux.

“What do you want?” He asks.

Hux purses his lips, defiant.

“Bend over the desk,” Hux commands.

The initials of arousal twinge in Kylo’s limbs but all he does is come closer. Hux’s eyes are wide now. Hux is not afraid, Kylo knows that, and instead of retreating Hux steps forward and seizes Kylo’s hair, pulling his head back and to the side. Hux leans in, his breath warm at Kylo’s ear.

“From now on we do this my way,” Hux hisses.

Kylo shivers. He feels himself getting hard.

“Bend over the table,” Hux repeats.

This time Kylo obeys. He thinks, _Vader knows_ , but then Hux yanks down Kylo’s trousers and pants. Kylo sucks in a harsh breath.

“Hands behind your back.”

Kylo obeys. A hand at his neck, pushing his head down against the table. The rustle of cloth. Hux retreats something from his coat. Kylo can feel Hux’s cold rage, his need to _control_. He tears deeper into Hux’s mind, glimpses a picture of himself, how Hux sees him now, bent back, curved spine, skin dotted with birthmarks, pliant, eager, needy— Then the first strike hits Kylo’s ass. He gasps. Another.

“Count,” Hux says calmly. And hits him again.

“One,” Kylo pants and grits his teeth. He rends into Hux’s mind, sees his desire, venomous, his hatred, the feeling of helplessness when Starkiller Base had collapsed around him, when Kylo had told him it was his fault, the blinding rage resulting in a touch to either kill or caress, the knowledge that even without the Force Kylo could choke him with his bare hands, that there was nothing else to do than be _gentle_ while hatred seared Hux’s veins, thieved of breath, how revolted Hux had been at their soft touches, and how against his will he had been aroused, too, helpless, biding his time—

“Pathetic,” Hux hisses, struggling to keep Kylo out of his thoughts, and continues: “How you cowered before Vader. He did not even _offer_ you a seat at the table, did he? He is using you just as Snoke did, just as everyone always will.” Hux strikes him again

“Shut up—”

“Count!”

“Two,” Kylo gasps. Another strike. Kylo presses his eyes closed, “Three.”

“Do you think he _cares_ for you? You are only a hound on his leash.”

Kylo squirms on the table, getting harder. Hux’s next strike bloodies him.

“Four.”

“All Vader wants is his son by his side. You _know_ that, don’t you.”

Strike. Kylo feels tears brimming at his eyes.

“Five!”

Strike.

“Six,” he whispers, tears running down his cheeks.

“Pathetic,” Hux repeats, breathing hard through his nostrils, one hand still at Kylo’s neck, now seizing his hair to turn his head to the side, to watch him cry. Repulsion washes over Hux’s features and Kylo feels the heat of both shame and arousal. For a moment Hux ceases striking him, his fingers digging into Kylo’s jaw, then pressing between his lips.

“You repel me,” Hux says, voice quivering.

Kylo can feel Hux’s erection against the back of his thigh.

“Fuck me,” Kylo chokes.

 

When Hux leaves, Kylo falls into his bed naked, filthy with blood, sweat and come smeared on his skin. Finally, he sleeps.

 

Kylo wakes from the vibration of his comm on the nightstand. It’s Issar. They have recruited one new knight. Their training begins immediately. Kylo instructs them to test other possible recruits but return in the next two weeks.

After a quick sonic shower and a protein bar, Kylo is on the way to the sparring room. Where two days ago he had slashed open the wall, is now a makeshift transparisteel cover, shielding but not hiding the damage he had done, frayed cable ends and broken duracrete. Unusual, but given the circumstances, the crew has to work on more serious issues than to fix this immediately. It matters not. Kylo activates his lightsaber. He gets in position. Then he moves.

Kylo practises strikes, blocks and quick counter-strikes until there is nothing else but the thrumming of the Force, the sizzling of his lightsaber, heat and movement, and where chaos reigned before: only void. Kylo gives himself to it. Power crackles through his veins. The all consuming undertow of vision. It is hard to breathe. He thinks nothing. Kylo sees his becoming.

And he is getting closer.

 

He meets Vader in the early evening. Kylo keeps his gaze low. He cannot look at Vader, even with his mask on. His whole body aches from the training and from what Hux did to him the previous night. The temperature in Vader’s room is set low and the lights are bright and cold. Something about Vader has changed since Kylo had come back from D’Qar. Since Leia Organa had died.

Some nameless thing rises inside Kylo when he looks upon Vader now.

“You have to find him,” Vader says and paces through the room. His steps, the clangour of his heavy boots, echo on the hard duracrete floor. Kylo’s gaze snaps up. He says nothing.

“We must not lose any more time. We cannot risk the Resistance contacting him. It is imperative you depart for Luke by morning,” Vader says.

It is the first time Vader speaks his name. It sounds like a prayer. Nausea clogs Kylo’s throat and deep in his gut wrath tears into him. He wants to repeat this name. Wants to spit it out like a curse.

“You have the coordinates. My daughter,” for the fraction of a second Vader’s voice quavers, then he continues, “gave them to you.”

“I _took_ them,” Kylo snaps without thinking.

Vader takes a step towards him, towering. His voice drops to a low hiss and Kylo can feel the Force clamouring around them. “Indeed, now you shall use them to find my son. _And_ _bring him to me_.”

Kylo swallows. Gnashes his teeth.

“Yes,” he grits out.

“Leave in the morning. Call back your knights. I need them while you are absent.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Leave me now.”

Kylo complies, turns around in a swirl of his black robes and stomps out of the room.

His fingers are trembling. He feels his control slipping. He’s one floor down when a scream breaks from his lips. The hiss of his lightsaber. Rage erupts, blinding and white-hot. Two patrolling stormtroopers recoil and quickly turn into the opposite direction as Kylo hacks and slashes against the wall. His screams echo distortedly in the hallway.

 

When Kylo is back in his room he contacts Issar and instructs her to return at once with Rho and the new recruit. He sends a message to Captain Phasma to have a ship prepared for his departure in the morning. He’s on the verge of using the secure line Hux had set up for them and told Kylo to use instead of coming to Hux’s room unannounced, risking exposure. Then, instead of doing it, Kylo turns around, throws his comm into a corner and tears his robes off. Sweat glistens on his skin and he shivers in the cool of the room. Hands in his hair, he paces. He sets the lights low. In the dark, his breath goes heavy. He swallows hard. He cannot think. Images of Luke. Of his mother. Their laughter. The memory of softening sunlight in the early evening. How _Ben_ had sat on Luke’s lap, listening to his mother retelling some grand adventure with Han interrupting and adding parts here and there.

Kylo hates them. All four of them.

Kylo leans against a wall, chest heaving, sinks down, buries his hands in the thick of his hair. His head is so light, he cannot breathe, he cannot breathe, he swallows, sudden panic rising, he clutches at his hair, his trousers, gets up, braces himself against the viewport, he will choke, he cannot breathe, he needs fresh air, needs ground underneath his feet, the void between the stars swallows him up, he bites his lip bloody, he is shaking, he grasps for the Force, but it slips from his fingers.

Then it passes.

He lies on his bed. Silence. He stares at the ceiling. He sees nothing.

Sleep does not come to him.

 

No-one sees Kylo off. Only the officers having prepared the ship are present when he enters the hangar. They salute curtly and leave as soon as Kylo dismisses them, their faces pale and their lips pressed tight.

Kylo departs.

The coordinates are set for a nameless planet in the Unknown Regions. Three days travel through hyper-space. Three days. It’s ridiculous. Vader has given no more instructions than to bring Luke back to the _Finalizer_. It’s clear Vader would rather go himself, but their position is too unstable. Vader must stay on the _Finalizer_ where he can monitor and control.

Yet, it means Vader trusts him to fulfill this task. It means Kylo is ready.

 

**x.**

 

The lightless deep engulfs him. The stars are drowned in gloom. Here, there is nothing but what remains since the beginning of time. The hours pass. Kylo dreams of an ocean. Vast, dark blue, and midst it, an island of jagged rocks. Mossy trees, and a lone figure unswayed, hooded, familiar.

 

Kylo reaches the planet in the grey before dawn. Two pale crescents hang low on the horizon. His scanners have been working for an hour now, finally settling on a location. Before the precise coordinates are calculated, Kylo _feels_ him. Luke. Unveiling his presence.

Kylo’s heart beats rapidly. He looks out at the ocean blurring underneath as the ship races towards the island.

There he is. A phantom come alive. Past and present colliding.

Kylo approaches for landing. Then his ship hits the ground. Kylo puts his mask on and exits the ship.

Outside, winds howl. Even through his mask there is the stench of fish and salt in the air, and something else too. Something wild and ancient. Kylo’s heartbeat is a wardrum, titanic, clarion. Eyes wide. He is tempest-driven, cold and calm.

Luke pulls back his hood. The years have cut deep lines into his face and marred his skin. But his eyes blaze blue and burn Kylo still. There is silence between them for a moment.

Then Kylo shouts: “Darth Vader sends me.”

The howling grows louder, distorts all sound. Kylo rips off his mask. Bares his teeth. Cold sweat dries on his temples. He can see Luke take a deep breath, a wet glint in his eyes.

Kylo approaches, over rock and moss, uphill, until he is is only a few steps away from Luke.

“Come with me,” Kylo presses, voice loud and ringing even in the storm.

Their gazes meet.

“You killed her,” says Luke against the winds.

Kylo snarls, grips the hilt of his lightsaber as Luke reaches for his own. The one that belonged to Vader before him. The one that should belong to Kylo now.

“It was necessary,” Kylo shouts. He feels dizzy.

“There is no light left in you,” Luke says.

Kylo’s breath hitches. Rain starts hitting the ground, hard heavy drops.

“You are so right,” Kylo says and activates his lightsaber. Its distorted hiss is swallowed by the noise of the storm. Luke activates his own lightsaber. All of Kylo’s hatred breaks forth, black, raging. He dashes towards Luke. He aims a swift vertical chop at Luke’s neck. Luke draws up his saber, parries, and attacks. Kylo has to take a step back, then he he presses forward again. The rushing of the rain. The pounding of his own blood in his ears. No thought. Just movement. Just wrath. Kylo twists the Force about his fingertips, then he throws it against Luke. Luke stumbles back. Kylo draws in a sharp breath. Advances. Strikes. He catches Luke’s side. Blood splatters onto Kylo. His eyes are wide. For a moment there is only the rush of _power_. It’s the moment Luke hoicks his saber upwards, and into Kylo’s side.  Pain numbs all feeling. Kylo falls to his knees. He grits his teeth, lips parting around a scream he cannot hear. He gets back up. Luke strikes at his head. Kylo moves backwards quickly but not quick enough. The tip of Luke’s saber rends open his skin, cuts his face, then the Force slams into Kylo and cuts him down.

All air is crushed out of his lungs. The rain cold against his skin, blinding him, its patter drowns out every sound. Luke’s once more hooded figure above him. The hiss and heat of Luke’s lightsaber at his neck. Then Luke deactivates it and moves out of Kylo’s sight.

And darkness extinguishes all thought.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is going to be the last. I can't quite believe it. Also, university starts again tomorrow, so an update might take a bit longer this time.  
> Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you think!


	5. Lacrimosa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks goes to my [bae](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelas) who beta'd this, who has been with me every step of the way by commenting and suggesting and listening to me rant and talking to me and simply supporting me. I love you.  
> 

**xi.**

 

The storm howls. Rain whips the earth, cold and numbing. Light cracks the black clouds like a scar. A red sun rises. The stench of salt and fish. The storm-lashed sea throws frothing waves against the jagged shore.

Kylo wakes. Above him a silhouette, darkened against the crimson morning light. He knows it is Issar before he sees her face. She kneels down next to him, presses something against his side, then she looks over her shoulder and shouts at someone. Heavy steps. The glint of polished armour. Captain Phasma, commanding two troopers towards Kylo.

For a moment, the dark moves in.

Then there’s the rumble of engine, he’s on a ship, and Issar bends down to him, her fingertip dabbing something onto the gash in his face. The sickly-sweet scent of bacta fills his nostrils. Issar’s hand against his cheek. When he looks at Issar, rage burns in the grey of her eyes. She says nothing.

 

Kylo wakes to bliss. The scent of pineapples, and some germane darkness that bereaves him of thought. A familiar voice reverberates. A singsong. Words he has known a lifetime long. And for a moment, there is peace.

Then there is not.

He’s taken out of the bacta tank. Terror washes over him. Invading. He is naked underneath piercing lights, blinding his eyes, hands push him down, the whir of droids rushing in, steps, shouts. The cold is unbearable. Kylo screams for them to put him back in the tank, he screams for mercy and he screams for his mother.

 

“Will he be alright?”

“What kind of question is that?” someone snaps. Issar.

Kylo grabs the sheets. He can feel his eyelids flutter. Slowly, he opens his eyes. It’s too bright. He closes them again.

“Should we call for a doctor?” Rho’s voice.

“No.” Issar.

A groan wrenches itself from Kylo’s lips as once more he opens his eyes. He’s trembling. He draws in a shaky breath. Tears sting at his eyes, then he feels them running down his cheeks.

“It’s the withdrawal from the bacta,” Issar says calmly, “it’s normal. It might last a couple of days.”

“Lord Vader did not wish us to visit,” Rho says suddenly, their voice cold and sibilant.

Kylo lets out a soft, choked sound. He remembers. Luke. The island. The fight. Sudden dread bolts him awake. Luke. Luke is gone. Vader.

“Where is he?” Kylo gasps and tries to sit up. Issar presses a firm hand against his chest and pushes him back down. Kylo bares his teeth, but a wave of nausea swipes over him, rendering him motionless. When it passes, he swallows hard.

“What happened?” He asks, toneless.

“We monitored the planet.  A ship left that wasn’t yours and the tracker in your belt showed that your location hadn’t changed in a couple of hours. Hux sent Phasma. I insisted on going.”

“Luke left.” Kylo cannot think. All he sees is Luke’s hooded figure and behind him the skies being torn asunder. Kylo reaches for his own face, where Luke’s saber had cut him open. Scar tissue underneath his fingertips. Luke has _marked_ him. Nausea hits Kylo again. He turns to the side. Issar is quick enough to snatch a plate from the bedside cabinet and hold it underneath his chin as he retches. It’s mostly gall, bitter and acrid, that comes over his lips. His whole body shudders, muscles convulsing. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his head hanging over the bed, fingers clawed into the curve of the mattress. His breath goes heavy. He glances upwards. Issar stands, holding the plate. For a moment there is silence. Then Issar swings around and throws the plate against the wall. It shatters, splashing Kylo’s gall at the wall and raining splinters all over the floor. Rho is stock-still, eyes wide. Issar turns back to them, lips trembling but her jaw set, her eyes closed forcibly. She says nothing. When she opens her eyes again, their grey is tumultuous, storm-ridden. Kylo feels the Force trembling around her, hears the screams that rage inside her, and ever present, the image of Daion.

Rho clears their throat.

“Lord Vader is tracking Skywalker’s ship,” Rho says sharply, then quieter: “he is _obsessed_.”

“Careful,” Kylo rasps, slowly regaining control. Rho’s lips twitch. For a moment it looks as if they wanted to say more.

Issar says, “Rho is right.”

“ _Enough_!” Kylo heaves himself up on his hands, turns to sit back against the headboard. Black strands of hair fall over his eyes, they are wet with sweat, sticking to his skin. Issar and Rho stand before him, quiet, tension tingling in their limbs. The electric twirl of violence.

They cannot disobey him. They will not disobey him.

“Did Lord Vader say anything?” Kylo asks, forcing down newly rising nausea.

“No,” says Issar, “but he killed the messenger who brought the tidings of your _failure_.”

The word hits him like a plasma-bolt.  As he knows Issar intended to. Kylo grits his teeth. Images flash before him. Luke looking at him with a wet glint in his eyes. The _loss_ in them. The condamnation. ‘There is no light left in you.’ Hatred cords up Kylo’s throat. He cannot breathe. The scar on his face burns. With disgust he remembers the moment of complete power, when he had thought he’d won it all, before Luke had cut him down.

Issar leans down and grabs his chin. Her gloved fingers dig into his skin.

“He would have left you to die,” she hisses.

“Get out before I kill you,” Kylo says.

She does not retreat, her gaze sears into him.

“ _Get out_!” Kylo screams. Issar yanks her hand away and then turns on her heel. She stomps out of the room, followed quietly by Rho.

Kylo is alone. His chest heaves. His knuckles are white, fingers still clawed into the curve of the mattress. The echo of Issar’s concern trembles along the Force, sickeningly. Kylo cannot bear it. He gets up from the bed. Exhaustion. Pain. A sharp pull in his chest. An old song fading from his memory. He just wants to crawl back into the warmth of the bacta tank. Instead, he dresses hurriedly, his robes lie neatly folded on a chair at the bedside. He has to get out of here.

He has to speak to Vader.

Droids and officers get out of his way. Kylo drags himself through the corridors, teeth grit, sweat on his temples. He can barely think. His fight with Luke rewinds before his eyes. Luke will never join them. He knows it. Vader must know it, too. And still Vader goes after him, unstoppable, _driven_ —

Kylo has to lean against the wall for support. He feels like collapsing. He cannot. He continues.

When he arrives at Vader’s door, he hears only the pounding of his own blood. He presses his hand against the control panel to request entry. No answer. He does it again. No answer. Vader is in there. He knows it. He feels it. He reaches for the Force, but instead of the presence of Vader’s mind, there is only black hostility. It chokes the air out of Kylo’s lungs.

“Please,” he begs, pressing his hand against the panel once more. “Please.”

No reply. A tremor goes through the Force. A _warning_. Kylo cannot think. Despair seizes him. He feels so cold. He pounds against the door, his fists shaking, he wants to tear the door out, but he knows he can’t, not with Vader on the other side, stringing the Force against it. He needs to talk to him, he needs to—tears veil his gaze, they burn hot in his eyes, then on his cheeks, he tastes their salt on his lips as he cries for Vader to open the door, to let him in, words catch in his throat. No reply, just Vader’s unspoken threat resonating in the Force. Kylo sinks down. Head back against the door, hair falling over his eyes. He draws his knees up against his chest.

He has no prayers left.

 

“Get up,” someone commands.

When Kylo does not move, a hand seizes the front of his robes and yanks upwards.

“ _Get up_.”

Kylo focuses his gaze. Hux.

“Leave me alone,” Kylo hisses, but Hux yanks once more, forcing Kylo to either fall forward or get up. Kylo stumbles to his feet.

“Follow me,” Hux commands, calm and cold.

And Kylo does. Hux leads him back to the medbay, into the private sector Kylo and his knights use. There is a silence in Kylo that resonates. Hux manoeuvres him to the bed, hands against his shoulders, pressing him down. Kylo sits. Hux breathes out through his nostrils. In the cool medbay light, Hux is even paler, and the shadows underneath his eyes, darker. His lips are pressed tight as he looks at Kylo. A flicker of something goes over his face. Kylo brushes against Hux’s mind roughly. A clangour of thoughts. _He cannot do that_ and _this is unacceptable_ and _how many officers have seen him like this?_

“What do you care?” Kylo snaps.

Hux turns to him sharply. His lips twitch.

“I care about the image we present to our officers, Ren,” Hux says, pacing along the length of Kylo’s bed, “are you aware of the repercussions of such behaviour?” Hux shakes his head and holds up a hand, stopping Kylo from answering. “We are at a critical stage. I will not have you _ruin_ it with your childish antics.”

Defiance rises in Kylo. “What do you know?” Kylo bites, “You do not _understand_ —”

Hux cuts him off. “What I _understand_ , is that I was forced to _silence_ two officers and five members of medical staff because you _wailed for your mother_.”

His words hit Kylo, and hard. He grits his teeth.

“Do not speak of my m—”

 _“Enough_.” Hux stops pacing, he turns to Kylo, pale eyes wide and furious. Kylo lunges forward. Their lips collide. Teeth and tongue, blood in Kylo’s mouth. Hux’s hand on his throat. Kylo sucks in a harsh breath. Then he breaks the kiss, buries his head in the crook of Hux’s neck, tears away his collar, lips against Hux’s skin, and he bites down—Hux curses, yanks at Kylo’s hair, a cacophony of _no no no_ in Hux’s mind and the acrid taste of regret, of failing to _control_ —

“Out of my head,” Hux gasps. He tries to push Kylo away. Kylo looks at him, breathing hard. Hux’s hair is dishevelled, blood smeared over the corner of his mouth. Kylo thinks of lightning. Thinks of Starkiller Base and the reflection of destruction in Hux’s eyes. Such ice in his gaze. Ruthless. Efficient.

 _Ambitious_. Kylo’s breath hitches.

“Compose yourself,” Hux hisses. “The next time someone reports that _Lord_ Ren is crying outside of Vader’s rooms like a beaten dog, I will not come to collect you.”

“Why did you, then? Tell me,” Kylo demands, aggressive, staring at Hux.

Hux straightens his collar and smoothes back his hair again.

 “Both Lord Vader and I need you to be operational. To inspire fear. To represent _power_ . Not to be a pathetic little _child_ ,” Hux says. “Now get yourself together, or,” and Hux comes closer again, gaze on Kylo’s scar, “keep doing what you do. Keep _failing_.”

Kylo shivers. Shame rips into him. He does not want Hux to see his face like this. Luke’s mark on it. Nausea twists in Kylo’s gut, rends him thoughtless for a heartbeat. He clenches his fists.

“You don’t know what I am capable of,” Kylo chokes out.

Hux raises his gaze to Kylo’s eyes.

“Show me, then.”

“I will show you,” Kylo promises.

He considers choking Hux with the Force right here, but there is a glint in Hux’s eyes. Daring. Hungry.

They look at each other. Kylo moves closer. He can feel Hux’s soft breath on his lips. Kylo’s heart races. He breathes out harshly. Slowly, he raises his hand to Hux’s jaw. His touch is feather-light. Hux lets him, the green of his eyes shrinking as his pupils dilate. For a moment there is nothing else.

“Come to my quarters at 2300,” Hux says.

“Okay,” Kylo says.

Hux leaves. Kylo stares after him.

 

Kylo returns to his room.

He feels numb. He goes into the refresher. He washes the traces of tears from his face. He looks up into the mirror. The scar stretches from over his eyebrow across his nose and down to his jaw. It’s of a pale red. Striking against the pallor of his skin. Cold drops of water catch in his lashes, the curve of his lips, the tips of his hair. For a moment he stares at himself. He bends down, one hand flat against the mirror. His breath against the glass. It clouds over the dark of his eyes and the red of the scar. He feels like sinking into cold water. And before him, he sees Snoke. His ashen face, twisted, his murmur so intimate, so familiar and dolorous. And Vader, faceless behind his mask, pulling him in, inevitable, numinous. Kylo closes his eyes and wishes for the dark warmth of the bacta tank.

A message on his comm tears him out of his thoughts. It’s a circular message, informing him of a speech Hux will be giving in half an hour. He’s required to attend, to be present and visible.

No doubt, Vader will be there.

 

The hall is filled with at least two thousand stormtroopers, a fourth of their total number, and about twice as many officers. The crew of the _Finalizer_ exceeds eighty thousand, but with an announcement only half an hour prior it is still a considerable number, and most certainly an audience _selected_ by Hux and the propaganda cabinet. The speech will be broadcasted live to the holoprojectors all about the ship, and Kylo knows that Hux is set on delivering a perfect performance.

Kylo uses the S-F entrance. Two officers escort him to the back of the podium where yet a curtain veils them from the gaze of the audience. In a few minutes Hux will give his speech. As of now, Captain Phasma is announcing the general. It is Hux’s first public appearance after the destruction of Starkiller Base. Tension is knit into the air.

Kylo espies Rho and Issar. He approaches and joins them without another word or glance. Behind his mask, his lips are pressed tight. Rho and Issar are wearing their masks, too. They bow before him.

Vader is nowhere to be seen. Kylo swallows hard.

From a side-entrance, Hux ascends the podium. He is flanked by four of his protection squadron, their long anthracite coats clean-cut and their boots heavy. The curtain rises. Hux strides towards Phasma, she draws aside. Kylo glances at the audience. The first rows are exclusively reserved for special units, behind them high ranking officers, and lastly, stormtroopers in their white armour. Feverish expectation hangs in the air. A murmur goes through the rows. Hux raises his hand and everyone falls silent. Suddenly, Kylo feels Vader’s presence. Vader ascends the podium and takes his place slightly behind and to Hux’s right. Kylo’s fingers tremble. He clenches them into fists. Under his robes, he feels hot, high-strung. Hux starts his speech by addressing the audience, honouring the officers who distinguished themselves during the battle on Starkiller Base, then moves on:

“The treacherous Resistance attack, and the war they forced upon us, have created a threat. We have temporarily lost our operation base. The enemy calculated to destroy us, but you have fought bravely, inflicting heavy losses upon their fleet. Even without Starkiller Base we are stronger, better equipped, and _you_ are the unquestionable _elite_ of all known systems. We are fighting for peace, life free of a regime that _lies_ to its people. We fight for a _united galaxy_. And we will _wipe out_ the loathsome Resistance. Their attack was not a victory strike, it was _desperation_ , aided by _traitors_. Traitors that will stand on trial for their crimes. Now the Resistance has abandoned D'Qar. They are homeless, their resources are cut off, they are left with no allies. Their best soldiers are nothing but lawless fanatics, soon to be crushed. We will no longer accept their terror, we will liberate the galaxy and once more raise its people to wealth, to _peace_ , greater even than that of the old _Empire_.”

A grim, but determined affirmative shout goes through the crowd.

“They wage a war against us that _none_ of us wanted, but one we are prepared for. We will defend ourselves with all means necessary. The time has come to take our gloves off.”

Another affirmative shout rumbles through the hall.

“Our next strike will annihilate them. We will be radical, because the most radical war is also the _shortest_.”

Now the people stand, roaring hail. In the back, the banners and standards of the First Order are risen as cameras take in the audience’s reaction.

“ _Never_ during this war will we fall prey to the hypocritical objectivism that has brought the galaxy so much misfortune over its history!” Hux exclaims.

The audience replies with a chant of: “Never! Never! Never!”

“With burning hearts and cool heads we will _overcome_ this _phase_ of the war. We are on the way to final victory, to liberate the galaxy, to bring peace. Today I once again remind you of your duty. We _will not_ fail the galaxy. We believe firmly and unshakably in peace, in victory. We see it before us, we need only reach for it!”

The roar of the audience is deafening. Kylo feels its energy, crackling through the Force. He is stunned. Nearly he feels the need to join his voice into the roar. He stands still and towers, Rho and Issar flanking him, and stares at the audience, frenzy contorting their faces. He veers his attention towards Hux, and with the Force reaches out, brushing against his mind. Utter satisfaction shudders through him. Utter _power_. Hux thinks, _I could ask them to open the viewports and jump and they would_. A shiver runs down Kylo’s spine. The initials of arousal tingle in his fingertips.

Quickly, he retreats and instead reaches out for Vader. Vader turns his head towards him. The hostility is gone, has become something else. Something colder.

 

When the masses have cleared out and the banners have been taken down, Kylo dares to approach Vader. Issar and Rho still linger and Kylo feels their attention upon him.

“I must speak to you,” Kylo says to Vader, voice neutral through the mask’s filter. “In private,” he adds.

Vader gives him a curt nod, and turns to leave, gesturing for Kylo to follow him.

The moment the door slides shut behind them, Kylo feels the Force around his throat. Vader throws him against the wall. Pain shatters through Kylo. He gasps for breath. Vader slowly comes closer and with a wave of his hand, removes Kylo’s mask. It falls to the floor with a thud.

“You are foolish to seek me out,” Vader says, voice dark.

“I am sorry,” Kylo presses, “please—”

“ _I have had enough of your pleas_ ,” Vader snarls.

“I tried—”

“You _failed_.” Vader tightens his Force-grip on Kylo’s throat. Darkness frames Kylo’s vision. He struggles, legs dashing, fingers clenching. Vader squeezes harder. Black panic rises in Kylo. Vader does not let go. No air—darkness moving in— Vader tightens his grip.

Kylo grasps the Force. Unconsciousness approaches—Sudden wrath surges up in him and the Force rushes through Kylo. A shout wrenches itself from his lips. He breaks Vader’s Force-hold. Falls to the floor. Coughs. Retches. Heaves himself up. He has to steady himself against the wall, knees weak. Hair falls over his eyes, he brushes it aside roughly. Stares at Vader. Kylo’s lips tremble. He breathes hard.

Vader offers him nothing. He turns his back to Kylo and stands before the viewports, cold, light slithered over black.

“Leave,” Vader says.

Kylo picks up his mask with trembling fingers, still staring at Vader. Then he leaves.

Outside he braces himself against the door, clasps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide, nausea ripping through him. With shaking hands he puts his mask back on. Adrenaline races through his veins. His own heartbeat drowns out all sound. He bites his lip. Iron-tang of blood. He walks, and quickly. No thoughts. He does not comprehend. He doesn’t want to. He does not go back to his quarters, he walks along the hallways, mindless, wraith-like, all move out of his path, there’s no pain, there is only paralysis, stupor, the corridors pass him by, the dullness of durasteel and outside darkness and stars glazed with light.

 

He is back in his room. He leaves the lights off. Cold sweat on his temples. He cannot breathe. His chest feels tight. He wants it to be over.

 

It is 2330 when he reaches Hux’s quarters. He presses his hand to the control panel. A moment later the doors slide open. He goes inside. The door shuts behind Kylo. Hux sits at his desk. A glass of scotch next to his datapad. Three fingers of scotch left in the bottle. A cigarette rests on the rim of a glass ashtray, smoke curls into the air. Kylo takes his mask off and discards it carelessly on the floor. Hux looks up from his datapad.

“You’re late.”

Kylo replies nothing, just moves closer. Swallows. He starts to take off his robe, throws it on the floor, too, as he walks over to Hux’s desk. He’s only wearing his trousers now. Hux’s gaze flickers over him, scrutinising. Then Hux lowers his eyes, staring at the choke marks on Kylo’s neck.

“You let Lord Vader do this to you?” Hux asks coldly, disgust curling his lip.

“I did not _let_ him,” Kylo bites.

“So you were too weak to stop him.”

“I am _not_ weak,” Kylo hisses.

Hux’s eyes glimmer and the corner of his mouth moves upwards a fraction. He takes a sip of the scotch and leans back in his seat.

“Prove it,” Hux says, voice acrid.

Kylo presses his lips together, and with the Force swipes clean Hux’s desk. The datapad crashes to the floor, display cracking, the ashtray, the bottle and the glass of scotch follow, shattering. Splinters of glass everywhere. Kylo does not care. He steps closer, feels the soles of his feet being pierced, blood smears on the floor.

“Nothing but a trick,” Hux says calmly, raises his chin. Then he stands, puts out the cigarette, now on the floor, with the tip of his boot and marches Kylo back against the desk. Kylo bares his teeth, he is so close to just tearing Hux apart, rending him open, but Hux’s gaze sears into him and once more he can feel Hux’s breath on his lips.

“Vader did not offer you a seat at the table because he knew you did not want it then,” Hux says quietly, reaches up and lays his hand against the marks on Kylo’s neck. “Do you want it now?”

Kylo does not answer. Hux squeezes. Kylo moves forward, crashes their mouths together. Suddenly a hand in the hollow of his knee. Hux pushes him up and backwards, Kylo’s spine connects with the desk. In one mechanical motion Hux rips Kylo’s trousers and pants off. Then he’s between Kylo’s thighs, hand at Kylo’s throat. Kylo lets out a shaky breath.

They look at each other.

Without thought Kylo uses the Force and crashes Hux to the floor, he hears the strangled noise Hux makes. When Kylo slides off the desk and slowly moves to him, Hux’s eyes are wide. Hux’s mind is blank. Only his rapid heartbeat and _excitement_. Kylo sinks down on Hux’s lap, grinds himself against him. Shame heats Kylo’s cheeks, but the arousal that singes his veins burns hotter than ever before. He keeps Hux pinned to the floor, but allows him to move. An arm wraps around Kylo’s hips, the hand of the other grips one of Kylo’s ass cheeks. Kylo bends down to him.

He looks into Hux’s eyes, pale green, and slowly Kylo drags his fingertips over Hux’s cheek. Hux’s pupils dilate. Hux moves upwards and kisses him, hard. The next moment, Kylo lets go of the Force and Hux flips them over. Shards of glass pierce Kylo’s back as he hits the floor. He gnashes his teeth and pulls Hux closer. Suddenly, Hux stands, marches to the bed and takes a tube of ointment from his bedside cabinet. Kylo sits up. Hux returns with quick strides, glass crunching underneath his boots. A hand against Kylo’s chest. Hux pushes him back down. A sharp hiss comes from Kylo’s lips as the splinters are pressed deeper into his skin. Fingers wrap around Kylo’s throat. He gasps for breath, hears Hux open the tube. A moment later one cold, coated finger breaches Kylo. Kylo moans quietly as Hux begins to push into him while his other hand still squeezes Kylo’s throat. Repulsion contorts Hux’s features as he tightens his grip, Kylo grows harder, looking at Hux from beneath his lashes, tearing into Hux’s mind: The need to claim. Disgust. Arousal. The faint scent of copper. _Thrill_. And deeper still, the will to power. Intoxicating. Hux adds another finger. Images of Kylo flood Hux’s mind, him, the bulk of his body pliant beneath Hux, his face reddening as Hux’s fingers tighten around his throat, _his mouth_ , Hux thinks, _his soft mouth_ and there is violence brimming inside Hux, no, not violence, _hunger_ — Hux adds a third finger, crooking them and Kylo gasps, bites his lip, moves against Hux.

“Beg me,” Hux snarls.

“Please,” Kylo moans, “please fuck me.”

Hux retreats his fingers and Kylo shudders at the feeling, then he watches how Hux opens his trousers with one hand, takes out his cock and slicks it with the ointment. Kylo pulls him on top. Harsh breaths between them. Hux’s gnashed teeth, the green of his eyes but a slim ring around the black of his pupils, Hux thinks _Ren Ren Ren_ and Hux positions himself, pushes in and squeezes Kylo’s throat. Kylo groans, his eyes roll back into his skull, he feels dizzy, blood in his mouth where he bites his lip open. Hux’s thoughts: _He’s mine_ and _I hate him_ and Kylo claws his fingers into the back of Hux’s uniform. Hux pulls out nearly to the tip before he thrusts in again, and hard. Kylo pants, then he slides one hand underneath Hux’s shirt.

“Don’t,” Hux hisses and grips his throat tighter. Another moan wrenches itself from Kylo’s lips, but he does not retreat. Instead, he moves his hand upwards, fingertips brushing over a hard nipple. He can feel Hux twitch inside him.

“Don’t touch me,” Hux grits. Anger and rage flood Hux’s mind, and underneath all, a twinge of helplessness. Kylo claws into it and tears forth the feeling Hux had when he’d watched Starkiller Base collapse. The planet crumbling underneath him.

Hux slaps him. Kylo’s head pivots to the side. The imprint of Hux’s palm burns his cheek. Another hard thrust of Hux inside him. Stars flicker before Kylo’s eyes. Hux pulls Kylo’s hand from under his shirt and pins his wrist to the floor.

“You want helplessness?” Hux spits, “Why don’t you crawl back to Lord Vader then?”

Kylo wants to retort, but Hux’s fingers squeeze the air out of his lungs, tears brim at Kylo’s eyes, while Hux sets a fervid rhythm. With each stroke he brushes against that point in Kylo that for a moment numbs all thought.

They look at each other. Kylo’s lips quiver. Then they kiss. Copper and salt. Hux lets go of Kylo’s wrist and reaches for Kylo’s neglected dick. The feeling of slender fingers curling around him. Kylo chokes back a moan. Tears smudge his view. Hux moves closer, and he looks young now, but never vulnerable, not like Kylo does, only determined. Their lips brush, then Hux moves back and their gazes meet again. Breathless. Kylo feels for a shard of glass on the floor, finds one, and closes his hand around it until he can feel his skin cut open. Hux watches. Kylo reaches up, carefully. Hux lets him, and Kylo smears the blood over Hux’s cheek, and two fingers over Hux’s lips. For a moment Hux’s eyes narrow to Kylo’s mouth. Once more they kiss. Kylo pulls him closer, their bodies sliding against each other, the cloth of Hux’s uniform rubbing against Kylo’s skin. He can hear Hux’s breath stutter, a soft moan against Kylo’s cheek. Hux’s thrusts become erratic while he speeds up his movements on Kylo’s cock.

It’s too much. Kylo moves back against Hux, moaning, begging, and then he comes. White-hot bliss. His mind goes blank. When he comes back to himself, Hux has stilled above him, breathing hard. Hux slips out of him, leaving a trail of come to trickle down Kylo’s thighs. The scent of it mixes with sweat and blood, and something sharp that is inherently _Hux_. Kylo watches Hux tuck himself back in.

“Get up,” Hux commands.

Kylo obeys, dizzy, trembling. He feels blood dripping down his back. A sibilant leaves his lips when he steps onto another shard. Hux leads him into the refresher.

“Sit down.”

Kylo sinks onto the toilet lid. Hux opens a cabinet behind the mirror and takes out a small first aid kit. Hux takes out a pair of tweezers and carefully, clinically, removes the splinters from the soles of Kylo’s feet, then he cleans the wounds and opens a tin of bacta, dabs some of it onto the pierced skin.

“Turn around.”

Kylo does. Hux repeats the procedure on Kylo’s back, then Kylo’s hand. Afterwards Hux leaves the refresher. The sickly-sweet scent of bacta fills Kylo’s nostrils. Want bereaves him of breath. But it no longer has the urgent sharpness it had when they first had taken him out of the bacta tank. The sweat on his skin lets him shiver in the cool air of the refresher. Come is drying on his stomach and crusts his thighs. Pleasant. Shame curls in his gut. Nonetheless, he takes a quick sonic shower. By the end, the soles of his feet are no longer bleeding, though the skin is still raw and of a bright pink. Kylo goes back into Hux’s room. Hux has swept the glass into a single pile and now changes his clothes. For a moment, Kylo watches. The slender lines of Hux’s shoulders, the freckles spattered over his pale skin. Without thought, Kylo moves closer, bends down and brushes his lips against Hux’s neck. Hux freezes. Then he turns around, his gaze sharp.

“Get out.”

For a heartbeat neither of them moves.

Then Kylo retreats. He picks his robes up from the floor and dresses. He puts his mask back on and exits the room.

 

When Kylo reaches his own room, Issar waits for him. She’s leaning against the wall opposite of his door, helmet on, arms crossed. For a moment Kylo regards her. Then he nods, and opens his door. She follows him inside. They both take their masks off.

“What do you want?” Kylo asks, voice hoarse. He sits down behind his desk. Issar lingers at the door, before she draws the other chair to the desk and sits down, too.

“There are reports of whispers against Snoke. Seems like _Hux_ ,” she spits the name out like a curse, “has been doing his job.”

Kylo nods for her to continue.

“They can’t be linked back to him,” she sounds almost regretful, “the officers still support Hux. It seems his popularity has even risen after Starkiller Base.”

Kylo cocks an eyebrow. Issar continues.

“They regard him as one of them. They know he was on the ground until the end and did his _best_ to save as many of his soldiers as possible.” She snorts derisively. “The people believe that he and _Lord_ Vader are capable of bringing peace to the galaxy. But _Snoke_ is far away and has given them no visible aid. They fear him. But they also start to despise him.”

She regards Kylo for a moment, and in the Force brushes against him. Something nameless flickers over her face, and Kylo can see the image of Daion burning into her. Bysshe too. Memories of them from a year ago. When their path seemed straight, clearly drawn. The initials of hatred. She retreats before Kylo can grasp more of it. He looks into her eyes, she does not turn away. He breathes in sharply through his nostrils, his lips twitching.

“ _Are you still with me?_ ” he hisses, the Force trembling around him.

She returns his stare. Her eyebrows draw closer together, she clenches her fists. Kylo feels the power crackling through her. She is strong. But he _will_ smite her if he must. A sharp jab of pain in his side. He has known her for so long—

She stands.

“You doubt me?” she spits, hands on the table. Rage contorts her face. In one fell swoop Kylo is on his feet, too.

“Answer me,” he snarls.

“I will not,” she whispers, voice cutting.

“I am your _master_!” Kylo shouts.

She juts her chin forward, closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and opens herself to Kylo in the Force. He tears inside. There is hatred, the towering figure of Darth Vader, and there is the ineffability of loss, Daion, _his voice so gentle_ , and there is rage, towards those who have commanded Daion’s death, the galaxy, the First Order, there is the lust for power, for destruction, but there is no betrayal. There is only loyalty.

Kylo steps back. Issar opens her eyes once more. She breathes hard.

Abruptly, Issar turns around. She snatches her mask from the table and marches to the door with heavy steps.

“Wait.”

She stops.

“Report to me about the new recruit tomorrow,” he rasps.

Issar turns back to him, eyes crinkling.

“Yes, master.”

 

He dreams of his mother and her dimming eyes. He moves in the bed, sheets soaked with sweat. He wakes with a pounding heart. His breath stutters, the coil of fear in his trembling limbs. An acrid taste on the back of his tongue. He swallows hard, and in the dark, strips the bed of its sheets. He takes towels from the bathroom and spreads them on the mattress, lies back down, lips pressed tight and eyes wide in the dark.

He sits up. Tries to meditate. No rest comes to him. He thinks of Vader and the Force around his neck, but when he reaches up it’s Hux’s marks he touches. They feel dirty.

A claim that’s not Hux’s to make. Kylo remembers Hux thinking, _he’s mine_. He remembers Hux’s pupils dilating. A sliver of green stretched around the blackness in which Kylo was reflected. Kylo’s heart beats faster. He digs his nails into his neck, attempting to erase the memory of Hux’s touch. Futile. It lingers and it lingers everywhere, tingling on his skin. Stimulating. Heat and the sting of his nails cutting into his flesh, the thought of Vader saying, ‘Leave,’ and how cold his voice had been. Kylo sinks back onto the mattress, closing his eyes, gasping for breath. Want twines inside. Cuspate. Thieving him of air.

 

In the morning, Issar’s message wakes him. He feels dizzy. The clammy fingers of nightmares cling to his consciousness. He splashes cold water into his face. In the mirror, his scar is still bright pink. Kylo swallows hard. Shame cuts into him. He braces himself against the wash basin before he can tear his gaze away.

 

Issar awaits him in front of the sparring room. The new recruit is inside. Kylo can feel it in the Force.

“Master,” Issar says in greeting, but stops Kylo from entering the sparring room with a wave of her hand.

“What is it?”

She looks around quickly. Kylo can feel her reaching out with tendrils of the Force. They are alone.

“I’ve had intel. Snoke may soon request us to return.”

Kylo swallows. This had been coming, he knows it. But the thought of facing Snoke so soon is like a knife to his side. He had hoped to have more time. Time to recruit more knights. To train them. To strengthen their rows and their resolve.

“Who knows of this?” he asks.

“Lord Vader. Probably Hux.”

“We must make haste,” Kylo growls, sound distorted through the voice modulator of his mask.

“Something else, master.”

“What?”

“Lord Vader has been tracking and monitoring Skywalker’s journey.”

Behind the mask, Kylo bites his lip.

“It seems, Skywalker is about to board a planet. Presumably to stock up fuel and food rations.”

Kylo’s vision swims.

“Since when do you know?”

“Just now.”

Kylo is about to say something when his comm vibrates. He snatches it from his belt and opens the communication line with a swipe over the small display. It’s a message from Hux over the secure line. It says: _Command bridge. Immediately._

His lips twitch. For a moment his fingers tighten around the device, then he switches it off and slides it back into his belt.

“I have to go. We will continue this later. Train the recruit,” Kylo says and turns around. His heavy steps echo in the hallway as he makes his way to the crew turbo shaft to get him to the upper levels. Stormtroopers and officers move out of his way. His swift approach has them jerk back and ducking their heads. It brings Kylo a small tad of satisfaction.

On the bridge his presence is noted but the officers continue their tasks undisturbed. They are all under the watchful eyes of Hux here. None would dare flee the scene, as Kylo well knows. Hux stands next to one officer who stares at a radar. Then Hux turns around and looks at Kylo. The corners of Hux’s mouth are bent downward, his brows are creased. A muscle twitches in Hux’s jaw. He gestures for Kylo to come closer. Kylo strides to him in a sway of black robes and the Force crackling around him. Together they walk a few paces further, out of earshot.

Kylo can smell the faint scent that is inherently _Hux_ and heat surges up inside him. He exhales audibly. Hux’s attention snaps to Kylo.

“Are you aware of Lord Vader’s departure?” Hux asks.

For a moment Kylo cannot think.

“ _What?_ ”

“He left fifteen minutes ago.”

“Where?”

Hux regards him for a moment.

“So he really did not tell you.” It’s not a question.

White hot anger. Kylo takes a threatening step closer to Hux, but Hux does not relent. The left corner of Hux’s mouth twitches in annoyance, and it takes all the control Kylo has to not crash him into the next wall and break his bones. Instead he swirls around, takes his lightsaber from his belt. The next second its hiss vibrates through the air, and he hacks the blade against the closest control panel. His scream echoes. All around him people jerk around, jump from their seats. Even Hux takes a step back. But then Hux’s voice cuts through the air.

“ _Enough, Ren!_ ”

Kylo stops in his tracks. Harsh breaths. For a blind moment he wants to turn around and tear Hux apart. Then there is Hux’s touch. The assertive press of his gloved fingers at Kylo’s arm. Blood thrums in Kylo’s ears. He stares at Hux through his mask. The touch is as firm as it is brief. But they are still close.

“Control yourself, Ren. Everyone is watching,” Hux says with a level voice, gaze set on the slit of Kylo’s mask. Kylo looks into Hux’s eyes. He finds no fear in them. Kylo deactivates the lightsaber. He slides its hilt back into the holster at his belt.

“Where did he go?” Kylo asks, strained.

Hux snaps his gaze to the officers in the room, they all return to work. Hux’s lips twitch, then he looks back at Kylo.

“Skywalker is boarding a planet. Lord Vader is on his way to meet him.”

“Reckless,” Kylo chokes out.

Hux says nothing, but his brows knit further before he turns around.

“What do you plan to do?” Hux asks.

Kylo is quiet. There is only one thing to do.

He hears Hux take a sharp breath. Hux turns back to him.

“I need a ship ready,” Kylo says. “And the coordinates for the planet.”

Hux’s gaze searches his for a moment. Even through the mask, Hux’s eyes are piercing.

“I will have Captain Phasma take care of it,” Hux says coolly.

“Good,” Kylo says and leaves.

 

On his way to the hangar, he reaches for Issar with the Force.

 _Lord Vader is on his way to Skywalker_ , he murmurs into her mind.

 _What shall I do?_ She asks.

_Go to the command bridge. They are monitoring the approach. Keep me informed._

_Yes, master._

When Kylo arrives at the hangar, a ship is ready for him. He can barely think.

For a moment, he sits in the cockpit, unable to move. Heart racing. He is shaking. His fingers clutch around the armrest of his seat. He closes his eyes, forces his pulse to calm.

The autopilot is set to the coordinates of the planet. Two hours on hyper-speed. Two hours. Nausea hits Kylo hard. He bends over, braces himself against the control panel and tries to keep the bile down. He has not yet eaten this day. Now he’s glad for it. When it has passed, he starts the ship, he opens the coordinates but puts the control on manual.

He leaves the hangar and a moment later tunnels into hyper-space.

Images flash before his eyes. Luke looking down on him, the storm behind him. Vader. Vader training him, Vader saying, ‘Good boy,’ the tall frame of Vader, his back to Kylo after having choked him.

Kylo presses his lips tight. Of course Vader would go after him. Of course Kylo had known Vader would. It sears into him. Stuttering heartbeat. Hatred etches itself into his bones, into the very core of him, and for a moment Kylo cannot breathe. He wants to be free of this. He cannot any longer _be_ this. He cannot—

Issar’s voice: _Master. Lord Vader has embarked on the planet._

 

**xii.**

 

The fabric of time dissolves before him. The closer he gets, the harder beats his heart. There is both quietude and raging noise, and thought and breath are only elements undergoing change as the image of the planet and its three moons fill his viewport. It’s a ransacked, mountainous world, umber and russet. Serrated rocks open up to a chasm that spreads for about two miles, a small village alongside it. At the very end of the chasm is Vader’s ship. It sits as a black monolith in the rugged landscape. Not far from it is another ship, old, put together from leftover parts. As Kylo gets closer, he can make out Vader’s and Luke’s figures. Lightsabers drawn.

Something inside Kylo falls.

He approaches for landing.

As he exits the ship, a rough wind catches his robes, twirls them. Neither Luke nor Vader turn towards him. The wind carries their twisted voices. Pleas and promises. Then they move. Kylo watches them fight while he strides closer. Their movements are mirror-images of each other.

Vader’s towering form, pressing ahead brutally, blow after blow that Luke parries and then something breaks in Luke, it cracks along the Force as an ear-battering disturbance. Luke’s counters become harsher, more aggressive. Kylo sees the tears on Luke’s cheeks.

Then Vader cuts him down.

Luke’s back hits the ground. Vader stands above him, lightsaber trembling in his grasp, unmoving. Blood smears into dust.

Kylo stares at them, then at his own hand. And somewhere in between, the dreadful spark of vision. Fire and ash, the terror of being self-born. Of becoming. Kylo’s eyes are wide. He comes closer.

“Stand back,” Vader roars, voice broken.

Kylo’s heart beats fast. He draws his lightsaber. Activates the blade.

Vader turns to him. Kylo smiles. A breath catches in his lungs.

Luke’s chest heaving up and down. Slowly, Luke gets back up. First on his hands, then on his feet. Vader does nothing. Kylo bares his teeth. Then Kylo dashes forward. With a hard bolt of the Force, he throws Vader to the side. Inch for inch Kylo pushes Luke back. Exhaustion creeps into Luke’s movements. They must have had fought before already. Now, Kylo dodges Luke’s strikes almost easily. Blood pounds in his ears. He drives Luke to the edge of the chasm. Until the abyss groans but a step behind him. Luke raises his gaze. He stands firmly. Kylo stares at him, this phantom of his past. The man who first condemned him. It’s over now. Luke knows it, too.

Kylo hoists his lightsaber upwards. In one fell swoop Kylo cuts Luke’s head from his neck. Vader’s roar rings in his ears.

Blood gushes forward, spatters onto Kylo’s face. The Force rushes through him, along his veins, in his blood. He feels the most powerful and the most powerless he ever has felt in his life. It’s earth-shattering. It changes everything. And it is then, he understands. All of it. Leia. Luke. This is not regret, this is transcendence. This is his becoming. This is overcoming himself, overcoming humanity.

This is his way to power.

Luke’s body hits the ground, twitching, blood haemorrhaging onto the rocks. Kylo sees none of it and all of it. His lips part around a reverential sound.

Suddenly, the Force tightens around Kylo’s throat. A moment of blackness. Then his back is crushed against a wall of rock. Vader comes towards him with trembling steps. The ineffable feeling of loss vibrates in the Force. Broken wrath.

Kylo juts his chin forward. For the first time, he is not afraid. He sucks in a harsh breath, staring at Vader who is only a hand’s breadth away from him. In Vader’s mask he sees the the glint in his own eyes reflected.

“I’m your family now,” Kylo breathes.

 

The wall of rock behind Kylo crumbles into pieces as Vader crashes it with the Force. Dust rises. Kylo is on his feet once more. Vader turns around sharply. He limps, Kylo notices now. Vader kneels down next to Luke’s body. Hands trembling. He frames Luke’s severed head. Kylo watches him with lowered eyes. Adrenaline still rages through his veins. Then Kylo turns his back as Vader heaves up Luke’s broken body. Kylo walks towards his ship. Every step feels as if it lasts a lifetime. And Kylo starts to understand. He has done something that Vader could never do. He has killed Luke and surpassed his god.

What does that make him?

 

They arrive at the _Finalizer_ together. Kylo knows Vader has no other choice. He can neither show weakness nor sentiment towards an enemy. Not with an audience. In the Force, Kylo feels the trembling of Vader’s mind. And it satisfies him.

A small party greets them. Among them are Issar and Rho. Captain Phasma stands at the side, and in their midst is Hux, clean-cut and sharp in the amber shards of light.

It is a new age.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Hux’s speech is based on parts of [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8IGbjPqFFvA) and [this](http://research.calvin.edu/german-propaganda-archive/goeb36.htm). Speak up against fascism.  
> -Look at [this](http://summeringminor.tumblr.com/post/143198291823/powerbottomhux-kyluxxury-issar-star-wars) marvellous aesthetic for Issar by powerbottomhux on tumblr!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who commented and left kudos.  
> Subscribe to the series and check out part 2 to see how this continues!  
>   
> Check out my [kylux tumblr](http://www.kyluxxury.tumblr.com) if you are so inclined and [reblog the fic](http://summeringminor.tumblr.com/post/143080790368/show-chapter-archive).
> 
> Please let me know what you think!


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